wad  dv  m 


THEODORE 
WINTHROP 


MR.  WADDY'S  RETURN 


BY 


THEODORE   WINTHROP 

Author  of  "Cecil   Dreeme,"  etc. 


EDITED  BY 
BURTON  E.  STEVENSON 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 

1904 


Copyright,    1904 

By 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  October,  1904 


THE    MERSHON    COMPANY    PRE88 
RAHWAY,    N.    J. 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTE 

The  author  did  not  live  to  revise  the  original 
draft  of  "  Mr.  Waddy's  Return/'  and  therefore, 
when  his  other  novels  were  published,  shortly  after 
his  death,  this  one  was  not  included.  On  looking  it 
over  again,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  it  seemed  to  his 
sister,  Miss  Elizabeth  W.  Winthrop,  too  good  to  let 
die ;  and  it  was  placed  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Stevenson 
to  give  it  such  revision  and  condensation  as  it  may 
be  presumed  that  the  author,  had  he  lived,  would 
have  given  it  himself. 


M180596 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     A  Remarkable  Episode,  Hitherto  Unrecorded, 

in  the  Voyage  of  the  "  Mayflower  "   .        .         i 
II.    The  Waddys  of  Dullish  Court,   from  White- 
gift  to  Our  Hero 6 

III.  In  Which   Mr.  Waddy  Reaches   Halifax   and 

Meets  with  a  Misadventure    .        .        .        .13 

IV.  A  Gentle  Lady  of  Fortune   Decides  to   Face 

a  Storm 24 

V.     A  Wreck  and  a  Rescue 30 

VI.     In  Which  Miss  Sullivan   Finds  Many    Reasons 

for  Departure 40 

VII.     A  Peppery    Invalid    Who  Dreams    Dreams  and 

Brings  Bad  News 50 

VIII.     Mr.  Waddy  Muses  upon  Fate  and  Undertakes 

a  Commission 58 

IX.     The  Nabob  Re-enters  Civilisation      ...      65 
X.     Our  Hero  Renews  His  Youth  in  the  Warmth 

of  an  Old  Friendship 73 

XI.     In   Which    the   Reader    is  Allowed   to  Wor- 
ship at  the  Shrine  88 

XII.     The  Parable    of  a    Humble    Beast  of  Burden 

and  of  Lilies  that  Toil  Not  .        .        .        .97 

XIII.  The    Reader    is    Presented    to  Two  Charming 

Girls,  and  so  is  Major  Granby        .        .        .     107 

XIV.  Protective  Scandals  and  Other  Diverting  Hu- 

mours of  a  Fashionable  Watering-Place      .     126 
v 


vi  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XV.     Mr.  Waddy  Receives  a  Letter  and  Gets  out 

His  Pistols 148 

XVI.     In  Which  Mr.  Horace  Belden  Prospers  Cer- 
tain Plans 163 

XVII.     Mr.    Belden    Contemplates    Villainies    New 

and  Old 177 

XVIII.     The    Brave    Prepare   for  a  Race,   the    Fair 

for  a  Picnic 184 

XIX.     Miss  Center's  Birthday  Party  and  What  Oc- 
curred Thereat 196 

XX.     Chin   Chin    and    Peter    Skekrett    Seize    the 

Forelock  of  Opportunity       ....     220 
XXI.     The  Story  of  Diana  and  Endymion,        .        .     233 
XXII.     In  Which   Mr.  Belden   Reaches  the  End  of 

His  Rope 241 

XXIII.  A  Voyage  of  Unknown  Length        .        .        .258 

XXIV.  Mr.  Waddy  Accomplishes  His  Return     .        .     266 


MR.  WADDY'S   RETURN 


CHAPTER  I 


A    REMARKABLE    EPISODE,,    HITHERTO    UNRECORDED, 
IN    THE   VOYAGE   OF   THE   "  MAYFLOWER " 


NAMES  must  act  upon  character.  Every  pre- 
ceding Waddy,  save  one  short-lived  Ira,  from 
the  first  ancestor,  the  primal  Waddy,  cook  of  the 
Mayflower,  had  been  a  type  of  placid  meekness, 
of  mild,  humble  endurance.  During  all  Boston's 
material  changes,  from  a  petty  colony  under  Win- 
throp  to  a  great  city  under  General  Jackson,  and  all 
its  spiritual  changes  from  Puritanism  to  Unitarian- 
ism,  Boston  divines  had  pointed  to  the  representa- 
tive Waddy  of  their  epoch  as  the  worthy  successor 
of  Moses  upon  earth — Moses  the  meekest  man,  not 
Moses  the  stalwart  smiter  of  rocks  and  irate  icono- 
clast of  golden  calves. 

Why,  then,  was  Ira  Waddy,  with  whom  this  tale 
is  to  concern  itself,  other  than  his  race  ?  Why  had 
he  revolutionised  the  family  history?  Why  was  he 
a  captor,  not  a  captive  of  Fate?  Why  was  the 
Waddy  name  no  longer  hid  from  the  world  in  the 
unfragrant  imprisonment  and  musty  gloom  of  a 


2  Mr,  Waddy's  Return 

blind  court  in  Boston,  but  known  and  seen  and 
heard  of  all  men,  wherever  tea-chests  and  clipper- 
ships  are  found,  or  fire-crackers  do  pop  ?  Why  was 
Ira  Waddy,  in  all  senses,  the  wholesale  man,  while 
every  other  Waddy  had  been  retail?  Brief  ques- 
tions— to  be  answered  not  so  briefly  in  this  history 
of  his  Return. 

Yes,  the  Waddy  fortunes  had  altered.  To  the 
small  shop,  the  only  patrimony  of  the  Waddy  family, 
went  little  vulgar  boys  in  days  of  Salem  witchcraft, 
in  days  of  Dorchester  sieges,  and  after  when  the 
Fourth  of  July  began  to  noise  itself  abroad  as  a 
festival  of  the  largest  liberty:  on  all  great  festal 
days  when  parents  and  uncles  rattled  with  candy 
money,  and  coppers  were  certain,  and  on  all  indi- 
vidual festal  days  when  the  unlooked-for  copper 
came,  then  went  brats,  Whig  and  Tory,  Federal 
and  Democrat,  to  the  Waddys'  shop  and  bullied 
largely  there.  Not  only  the  representative  Mr. 
Waddy  did  they  bully  and  bargain  into  pecuniary 
bewilderment  and  total  loss  of  profit,  but  also  the  rep- 
resentative Mrs.  Waddy,  a  feeble,  scrawny  dame, 
whose  courage  died  when  she  put  the  fateful  ques- 
tion to  the  representative  Mr.  Waddy,  otherwise 
never  her  spouse. 

But  there  was  no  more  bullying  about  the  little 
shop.  In  fact,  the  shop  had  grown  giantly  with  the 
fortunes  of  the  name.  A  row  of  stately  warehouses 
covered  its  site,  and  many  other  sites  where  neigh- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  3 

bour  pride  had  once  looked  down  upon  it.  The  row 
was  built  of  granite,  without  ornament  or  gaud, 
enduring  as  the  eternal  hills.  On  its  front,  cut  in 
solid  letters  on  a  gigantic  block,  were  the  words 


WADDY  BUILDINGS 


Ginger  was  sold  there  in  dust-heaps  like  a  Vesu- 
vius, not  gingerbread  in  the  amorphous  penny  idol ; 
aromatic  cinnamon  by  the  ceroons  of  a  plundered 
forest,  not  by  the  chewing-stick  for  dull  Sabbath 
afternoons;  tea  by  the  barricade  of  chests,  product 
of  a  province,  not  by  the  tin  shoeful,  as  the  old- 
time  Waddys  had  sold  it  for  a  century  before  the 
Tea  Party.  And  Ira  Waddy  owned  these  buildings, 
which  he  had  never  seen. 

It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  speculate  to  dis- 
cover where  the  traits  that  distinguished  Ira  Waddy 
from  his  ancestors  had  their  origin.  Of  this  I  have 
accurate  information.  My  wonder  is  at  the  delay 
in  a  development  of  character  certain  to  arrive. 
But  late  springs  bring  scorching  summers.  Fires 
battened  long  below  hatches  gather  strength  for  one 
swift  leap  to  the  main-truck. 

Whitegift  Waddy,  cook  of  the  Mayflower,  was 
meek.  How  he  came  to  be  a  Puritan,  on  the  May- 
flower,  in  its  caboose  and  a  cook, — out  of  his  element 
in  religion,  in  space,  in  place,  and  in  profession, — I 


4  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

cannot  say;  these  are  questions  that  the  Massachu- 
setts Historical  Society  will  probably  investigate, 
now  that  the  Waddys  are  rich  and  can  hire  cooks  to 
give  society  dinners.  At  all  events,  there  he  was,  and 
there  he  daily  made  a  porridge  for  Miles  Standish, 
and  there  he  peppered  the  same.  Now  as  to  pepper 
in  cream  tarts  there  is  question ;  in  porridge  none :  I 
do  not,  therefore,  blame  Miles,  peppery  himself  and 
loving  pepper,  for  wrath  when,  one  day,  a  bowl  of 
pepperless  insipidity  was  placed  before  him.  He 
sent  for  the  cook  and  thus  addressed  him : 

"  Milksop !  Thou  hast  the  pepper  forgot.  I 
will  teach  thy  caitiff  life  a  lesson.  Ho,  trencher- 
man !     Bring  pepper !  " 

It  was  brought.  He  poured  it  all  into  the  por- 
ridge, and,  standing  by,  compelled  Waddy  to  swal- 
low spoonful  after  spoonful.  At  the  screams  of  the 
victim,  the  Pilgrim  Grandfathers,  Governor  Carver, 
Father  Winslow,  and  Elder  Brewster,  rushed  from 
on  deck  into  the  cabin  and  besought  the  infuriated 
hero  to  desist  as  he  valued  the  life  of  Mrs.  Susanna 
White,  who  was  soon  to  add  a  little  Pilgrim  to 
their  colony. 

"Enough!"  said  Standish.  "The  pepper  hath 
entered  into  his  soul." 

It  had,  indeed !  Nothing  was  cooked  on  the  May- 
flower for  six  days.  On  the  seventh,  Whitegift 
Waddy  re-entered  the  caboose.  He  had  always  been 
a  meek,  he  was  now  a  crushed  man.     Yet  there 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  5 

seemed  to  have  grown  within  him,  as  we  sometimes 
see  in  those  the  world  has  wronged,  a  quiet  con- 
fidence in  a  redressing  future. 

Pepper,  thus  implanted  in  the  Waddy  nature, 
seemed  to  have  no  effect  for  generations.  It  was, 
however,  slowly  leavening  their  lumpishness.  It  was 
impelling  them  to'  momentary  tricks  of  a  strange 
vivacity.  At  last,  the  permeating  was  accomplished, 
and  our  hero,  Ira,  the  first  really  alive  Waddy,  was 
born.  I  have  said  the  first,  but  there  was  another 
Ira  Waddy  who,  at  one  period  in  his  brief  career, 
showed  a  momentary  sparkle  of  the  smouldered 
flame.  Of  him  a  word  anon,  as  his  fate  had  to  do 
with  the  fates  of  others,  strangely  interwoven  with 
the  fate  of  his  great-nephew  and  namesake. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    WADDYS    OF    DULLISH    COURT,    FROM     WHITE- 
GIFT  TO  OUR  HERO 

WHILE  Governor  Winthrop  was  planning  the 
future  city  of  Boston,  he  went,  one  rainy 
day,  to  the  heights  of  those  hills  that  give  the  spot 
the  name  of  Trimountain.  A  violent  June  storm 
had  channelled  the  hillsides,  and  strong  water- 
courses filled  the  valleys.  No  phenomenon  is  idle  to 
the  observing  mind. 

"  These  channels,"  said  the  prudent  governor, 
"  shall  be  the  streets  of  our  future  city." 

He  then  pursued  his  way  downward,  slipping 
along  the  oozy  trails,  until  he  paused  at  a  small 
pool  where  several  little,  muddy  rivulets  united  to 
form  a  stagnancy.  Here,  he  contemplated  for  a 
while  his  grave  but  genial  visage,  and  smiled  as  his  re- 
flected face  broadened  or  lengthened  grotesquely  and 
his  pointed  beard  wagged  in  the  waves  of  the  water. 

"  This,"  said  he  at  last,  "  shall  be  a  place  for 
pauses  in  city  life.  Here  shall  be  a  no-thorough- 
fare court,  a  lurking-place  for  shy  respectability,  for 
proud  poverty ;  not  quite  for  neediness,  but  for  those 
who  want  and  would,  but  will  not." 

6 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  7 

Boston  was  laid  out;  the  streets  named  them- 
selves. This  court  chanced  to  be  called  Dulwich 
Court,  which  soon  degraded  itself  to  Dullish,  and 
so  it  remained  in  nature  and  in  name. 

Whitegift  Waddy,  and  Mehitabel,  his  wife,  float- 
ing purposeless  waifs  through  the  new  settlements, 
drifted  into  Dullish  Court  to  live  dull  lives  and  thea 
to  meekly  die.  There  was  always  one  son  in  each 
generation  of  their  family,  an  unwholesome  lad,  fed 
on  remainder  biscuits  and  stale  mince  pies.  Still, 
it  gradually  became  aristocratic  to  have  come  in  with 
the  Pilgrims.  A  certain  consideration  began  to  at- 
tach itself  to  the  family,  and  the  current  Waddy,  if 
such  phrase  may  be  used  of  so  very  stagnant  a  per- 
son, was  always  espoused  by  someone  of  a  better 
class  than  his  social  condition  could  warrant.  It 
was  generally  some  pale  schoolmistress,  or  in- 
valided housekeeper  of  a  great  mansion,  who  became 
the  better  half  of  each  gentle  shopkeeper  of  Dullish 
Court. 

These  wives  brought  refinement  and  education 
with  them ;  so  that,  at  last,  could  they  have  sunk  the 
shop,  the  Waddys  would  have  been  admitted  as 
gentlefolk  anywhere.  They  enjoyed,  too,  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  better  in  rank  than  their  neigh- 
bours. They  never  spoke  of  Whitegift  as  the  cook, 
but  as  the  Steward,  or  sometimes  the  Purveyor,  of 
the  Mayflower.  They  liked  to  walk  through  Beacon 
Street  and  smile  placidly  at  the  efforts  of  new  people 


8  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

to  win  position  by  great  houses,  crowded  balls  and 
routs,  and  promotion  marriages. 

By-and-by  it  chanced  that,  quite  contrary  to  rule, 
there  were  three  sons  in  one  generation  playing  in 
the  puddles  of  Dullish  Court  and  slyly  filching  dry 
gingerbread  from  the  showcases  of  the  old  shop. 
It  was  a  time  when  there  was  a  flame  in  the  land, 
and  the  elder  twin  of  the  three  young  Waddys, 
Whitegift  by  name,  who  had  been  early  taken  with 
tin  soldiers,  and  penny  trumpets,  awoke  one  morn- 
ing after  booziness  to  find  himself,  to  his  total  sur- 
prise, with  a  red  coat  on  his  back  and  a  king's 
shilling  in  his  pocket.  There  was  so  little  real 
martial  ardour  in  his  soul  that  he  at  once  withered 
away,  and  being  sent  to  the  garrison  of  New  York 
as  a  recruit  of  doubtful  loyalty,  he  was  there  soon 
invalided.  He  finally  dropped  into  the  family  trade 
and  became  a  sutler.  The  Boston  Waddys,  sad- 
dened by  his  desertion  of  a  cause  they  had  vigour 
enough  to  support,  soon  forgot  his  existence — 
which  does  not  at  all  imply  that  such  existence 
terminated. 

The  other  twin  was  apparently  of  the  usual 
Waddy  type ;  but  when  the  great  flame  blazed  forth 
at  last  unquenchable,  he  also  took  fire.  He  was  a 
volunteer  at  Lexington  and  did  active  service,  drop- 
ping several  invaders  in  their  bloody  tracks.  He 
was  at  once  made  sergeant  in  Captain  Janeway's 
company,  and  gained  the  respect  of  his  officers  by 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  9 

his  quick,  ready  energy.     Ira  was  his  name — Ira 
Waddy,  the  First. 

Two  months  later,  when  the  British  were  trying 
that  uphill  work  at  Bunker  Hill  for  the  third  time, 
Captain  Janeway  and  Sergeant  Waddy  waited 
rather  too  long.  Three  or  four  of  the  British 
rushed  at  Janeway  with  eyes  staring  for  plunder. 
One  of  them  stared  at  what  he  got  and  lay  there 
staring,  with  his  head  downhill.  To  bore  this 
fellow  had  occupied  Janeway's  sword,  and  though 
Sergeant  Waddy's  clubbed  musket  could  brain  an- 
other assailant,  it  could  not  parry  two  bayonet 
thrusts.  His  breast  could  and  did;  so  that  Jane- 
way felt  nothing  more  than  a  scratch,  when,  with  a 
murderous  stamp  of  the  left  foot,  another  soldier 
ran  the  sergeant  through.  Just  then  a  rush  of  fly- 
ing Yankees  came  by  and  cleared  the  spot  of  foes. 
The  captain  had  a  moment  to  kneel  by  his  pre- 
server and  hear  him  gasp  some  broken  words : 

"  Mother !  Take  care  of  them,  captain.  Oh, 
Mary,  Mary !  " 

When,  after  the  surrender  of  Boston,  Captain, 
now  Colonel,  Janeway  called  on  that  Mary  with  the 
news  of  her  lover's  death  and  his  last  words,  she 
knew  her  life  was  widowed.  There  was  nothing  in 
the  power  of  a  man  of  wealth  and  growing  distinc- 
tion that  the  colonel  did  not  offer  her.  She  rejected 
all  with  a  New  England  woman's  quiet  independence 
and   mild   self-reliance.     To  become   a   schoolmis- 


io  Mr.   Waddy's   Return 

tress,  as  she  did,  was  only  to  return  to  her  original 
destiny. 

Janevvay  remained  her  friend.  He  alone  knew 
her  secret.  She  was  one  of  those  strangely  spiritual 
beings  who  interfere  like  dreamy  visions  in  the  in- 
ventive, busy  business  of  Yankee  life.  She  had  a 
great,  ennobling  sorrow.  Her  lover  had  been  a 
martyr  of  two  religions.  He  had  died  for  his 
country  and  for  his  friend.  It  may  be  said  he  died 
instinctively;  but  Mary  knew  that  only  the  noble 
and  the  brave  have  noble  and  brave  instincts. 

To  most  people,  Mary  was  only  a  pale  school- 
mistress. One  person,  however,  met  her  on  terms 
of  devoted  respect.  Governor  Janeway,  the  pre- 
eminently practical  and  successful  man,  found  in  her 
society  what  he  found  not  with  his  gorgeous  wife. 
She  became  the  Cassandra  of  young  Janeway — who 
went  to  the  bad,  it  is  true,  but  long  after  her  death 
— and  the  kindly  guide  of  his  infant  child. 

Late  in  life  she  married  Benajah  Waddy,  the 
youngest  brother  of  the  three.  Janeway  had  made 
him  bookkeeper,  secretary,  agent,  but  he  had  finally, 
after  his  mother's  death,  dwindled  into  the  old  shop. 
Mary,  considering  herself  his  brother's  widow,  came 
to  a  Hebraical,  religious  conclusion  as  to  her  duty. 
With  entire  simplicity  of  heart,  she  told  Benajah 
that  they  ought  to  be  married.  As  a  matter  of 
course,  they  were.  The  usual  wife  found,  also,  in 
process  of  time,  their  only  son,  Benajah,  and  mar- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  1 1 

ried  him.  These  both  died,  leaving  their  only  son, 
Ira  Waddy,  to  the  charge  of  his  aged  and  widowed 
grandmother,  Mary,  widow  in  heart  of  Ira  the 
First. 

Her  grandson  was  named  Ira  after  his  great- 
uncle,  the  soldier.  By-and-by  it  was  discovered  that 
a  wide  river  in  India  bore  the  same  name,  and 
young  Waddy  was  attracted  toward  his  namesake. 
The  old  influence  which,  now  reviving,  made  his 
blood  hot  as  flame,  urged  him  to  know  the  land  not 
merely  of  the  citron  and  myrtle,  but  of  spice  and 
pungent  condiments.  His  grandmother  lavished 
upon  him  all  the  beautiful  tenderness  of  her  long- 
suppressed  and  desolated  love,  and  then  she  died. 

Ira  Waddy's  hot  ardency  of  nature  could  not  bear 
coolly  any  wrong.  Wrong  came  to  him.  It  would 
have  extinguished  an  ancestor  of  the  Whitegift 
class.  Him  it  only  kindled  to  counter-fire.  He  had 
his  great  quarrel  with  life,  as  many  men  have ;  he,  in 
his  young  life.  The  Janeways  had  always  been 
kind  to  him ;  so  had  their  neighbours,  the  Beldens. 
In  childish  sports  and  youthful  intercourse  with  the 
children  of  both  families,  he  had  often  talked  with 
enthusiasm  of  tropic  splendours  and  India,  his  des- 
tined abode.  When  the  world  of  his  early  associa- 
tions became  too  narrow  for  him — too  narrow  be- 
cause there  his  wrong  would  meet  and  hurtle  him 
daily — then  he  thought  again  of  India,  and  tropic 
indolence,  and  thoughtless  people.    Being  an  orphan 


12  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

and  without  kin,  he  could  go  where  he  chose.     He 
chose  India. 

There,  as  the  years  passed,  he  became  rich  and 
powerful,  a  nabob,  a  merchant  prince ;  but  with  all 
that  this  tale  has  no  concern — it  is  written  merely  to 
chronicle  the  facts  of  his  Return. 


CHAPTER  III 

IN     WHICH     MR.     WADDY     REACHES     HALIFAX     AND 
MEETS    WITH    A    MISADVENTURE 

THE  Niagara  was  running  into  Halifax. 
It  was  early  of  a  bright  summer  morning,  and 
all  the  passengers  came  on  deck,  joyous  with  hopes 
of  terra  Hrrna.  There  was  our  hero,  Mr.  Ira 
Waddy;  there  were  two  shipboard  friends  of  his, 
Harry  Dunston  and  Gilbert  Paulding ;  there  was  the 
Budlong  family,  to  wit:  old  De  Flournoy  Budlong; 
Mrs.  De  Flournoy  Budlong,  his  second  wife,  lux- 
uriantly handsome,  and  greatly  his  junior;  Tim  De 
Flournoy  Budlong,  and  Arabella  De  Flournoy  Bud- 
long; and  accompanying  them  was  M.  Auguste 
Henri  Miromenil  de  Chateauneant. 

They  all  looked  fresh  and  well-dressed  in  shore 
toggery.  The  Budlongs,  particularly,  were  in  full 
bloom.  They  were  always  now  in  full  bloom,  and 
meant  the  world  should  fully  know  they  were  re- 
turning from  Europe  with  fashion  and  the  fashions, 
with  a  gallery  of  pictures  and  a  Parisian  pronuncia- 
tion. Old  Budlong  had  once  been  a  brisk  young 
clerk,  lively  and  lucky.  He  was  called  Flirney  then. 
He  had  traded  in  most  things  and  all  had  yielded 

13 


14  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

him  pelf.  He  was  now  a  capitalist,  fat  and  uneasy, 
with  a  natural  jollity  which  he  thought  unbecoming 
his  position  and  endeavoured  to  suppress.  Budlong 
in  full  bloom  was  as  formal  as  a  ball  bouquet. 

It  was  under  the  regime  of  the  second  wife  that 
the  Budlongs  had  blossomed.  After  one  season  of 
gorgeous  grandeur,  but  doubtful  triumph,  at  home, 
they,  or  rather  the  master-she  of  their  social  life, 
determined  to  be  stamped  into  undoubted  currency 
by  the  cachet  of  Europe  and  Paris.  They  went, 
were  parisims,  and  were  now  returning,  wiser  and 
worse.  They  were  now  the  De  Flournoy  B.'s,  and 
brought  with  them  De  Chateauneant,  as  attache  of 
mother  and  step-daughter,  either  or  both.  Old  Bud, 
on  marital  and  paternal  grounds,  disliked  the  Gaul. 

Halifax  is  dull  and  provincial,  but  any  land  ho !  is 
charming  after  a  voyage.  Old  Budlong  knew  all 
about  Mr.  Waddy's  wealth  and  position.  He  had 
lavished  much  of  his  style  of  civility,  with  much 
sincere  good  will,  upon  him  on  board  ship  and  now 
was  urgent  that  he  should  join  the  ladies  and  him- 
self in  their  promenade  ashore. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Waddy,  "  but  I  have  promised 
to  take  a  tramp  with  your  boy  and  these  gentlemen," 
and  he  indicated  Dunstan  and  Paulding. 

So  De  Chateauneant  carried  the  day.  Old  Bud- 
long walked  in  advance,  inquiring  the  way,  while 
his  wife  and  daughter  followed,  making  a  cheer- 
ful glare  of  ankles  through  the  muddy  streets. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  15 

"  Isn't  it  delightful  to  be  ashore?  "  remarked  Miss 
Arabella  to  Auguste  Henri. 

"  Yese,  mees.  I  am  mose  pleese  to  be  out  of  ze 
ice-bugs.  Ah,  mademoiselle," — as  Arabella  made  a 
lofty  lift  over  a  puddle, — "  vous  avez  le  pied  d'une 
sylphide." 

Mr.  Waddy  and  his  companions  soon  exhausted 
the  town.  They  lunched  substantially  on  land  fare, 
and  having  still  time,  went  to  drive,  Dunstan  and 
Paulding  in  one  drag,  Mr.  Waddy  and  Tim  in  an- 
other. The  first  signal-gun  recalled  them.  The 
two  friends,  whose  steed  was  a  comparative  Bu- 
cephalus to  the  others'  Rosinante,  drew  rapidly  out 
of  sight.  The  rear  coachman  was  flogging  his  beast 
into  a  clumsy  canter,  when  just  as  they  passed  a 
little  jetty  near  some  fishing-huts,  they  saw  a  child 
fall  from  the  end  into  deep  water. 

"  We  can't  let  the  child  drown,"  said  Mr.  Waddy, 
stopping  the  coachman. 

"  He's  none  of  ours.  We  must  catch  the  ship. 
Perhaps  he  can  swim,"  rejoined  Timothy. 

But  it  was  evident  he  couldn't ;  there  was  no  other 
help  in  sight.  In  an  instant,  Mr.  Waddy  was  on  the 
jetty,  coat,  waistcoat,  and  hat  off ;  in  another,  he  was 
fighting  the  tide  for  the  drowning  life. 

Tim  was  no  more  selfish  a  fellow  than  is  the  rule 
with  the  sons  of  such  merchants,  and  especially  such 
step-mothers.  He  would,  perhaps,  have  stayed  by 
Mr.  Waddy  had  that  gentleman  been  in  positive 


1 6  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

danger,  but  seeing  that  he  was  not  only  not  drown- 
ing, but  had  the  child  safe  by  the  hair,  Tim  whipped 
up  and  got  on  board  just  in  time. 

Cunarders  do  not  wait  for  passengers  who  choose 
to  go  a-ducking  after  top-heavy  children.  Tim  told 
his  story.  Mrs.  Budlong  and  most  of  the  com- 
mercial gentry  rather  laughed  at  Mr.  Waddy.  Dun- 
stan  and  Paulding  said  nothing  to  them.  They, 
however,  seemed  to  have  an  opinion  on  the  subject 
which  prevented  them  from  any  further  interchange 
of  cigars  with  Master  Timothy.  Dunstan  looked 
up  Chin  Chin,  Mr.  Waddy's  Chinese  servant,  and 
by  dint  of  pulling  his  ears  and  cue  and  saying  Hi 
yah !  a  great  many  times,  made  him  understand  that 
his  master  was  left,  and  he,  Chin  Chin,  must  pack  up 
the  traps,  and  for  the  present  obey  the  cue-puller. 

It  was  a  very  tender  and  beautiful  thing  to  see 
how  Mr.  Waddy  raised  the  insensible  boy  up  from 
the  boat  below  to  the  jetty.  He  wrapped  the  drip- 
ping object  without  scruple  in  his  own  very  neat  and 
knowing  travelling  jacket  and  carried  him  toward 
the  mother,  who  had  seen  the  accident  from  a  dis- 
tance and  was  running  wildly  toward  them.  She 
clasped  the  child  to  her  breast,  and,  at  the  beating  of 
her  heart,  life  seemed  suddenly  to  thrill  through  the 
saved  one.  He  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled  through 
his  gasping  agony. 

Then  the  mother  turned,  seized  Mr.  Waddy  in  an 
all-round  embrace,  and  gave  him  a  stout  fisherwom- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  17 

an's  smack.     It  was  a  first-class  salute  for  the  re- 
turning hero. 

He  disentangled  himself  from  this  codfishy  net- 
work ;  then,  looking  up,  he  suddenly  fell  to  swearing 
violently  in  a  variety  of  Oriental  languages.  The 
Niagara  was  just  off  under  full  headway.  Two  men, 
probably  Dunstan  and  Paulding,  were  waving  their 
handkerchiefs  from  the  quarter-deck. 

Mr.  Waddy  stopped  swearing  as  suddenly  as  he 
had  begun  and  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter;  then  he 
looked  ruefully  at  his  shirt. 

The  fisherwoman  was  occupied  in  punching  the 
'child's  ribs  and  standing  it  on  its  head  It  was 
spouting  water  like  the  fountain  of  Trevi,  and  gur- 
gling out  lusty  screams  that  proved  the  efficacy  of 
the  treatment. 

"  Mrs.  Hawkins,"  said  Waddy,  becoming  con- 
scious that  he  had  observed  her  name  over  her  door 
in  his  momentary  coup  d'ceil  before  he  sprang  into 
the  water;  "  Mrs.  Hawkins,  I  am  wet;  you  will  have 
to  dry  me." 

"  Why,  so  you  are,"  said  the  lady,  "  wet  as  a 
swab.  Sammy,  you  jest  git  up  an*  go  in  the  shop, 
an'  don't  you  be  fallin'  overboard  ag'in  an'  bother- 
in'  the  gentleman." 

She  accompanied  this  advice  with  a  box  on  the 
ear  of  the  sobbing  Sammy,  which  started  Trevi 
again. 

Without  much  ceremony  or  disappearance  into  a 


1 8  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

tiring-room,  Mr.  Waddy  doffed  his  wet  clothes  and 
donned  the  toggery  of  the  widow's  eldest  son.  His 
cigar-case,  well  rilled  with  cheroots,  had  fortunately 
escaped  with  his  coat.  He  lighted  his  first,  and  sat 
waiting  patiently  while  Mrs.  Hawkins  displayed  his 
wet  raiment  before  her  cooking  stove  and  turned 
the  articles  judiciously  to  toast  on  either  side.  Let 
us  observe  him  as  he  sits. 

He  is  rather  young  for  a  nabob.  Many  of  the 
nabobs  are  lymphatic  and  wheezy,  as  well  as  old, 
and  that  without  reference  to  the  place  of  their  na- 
bobery,  whether  Canton,  Threadneedle,  or  Wall 
Street.  Mr.  Waddy  was  none  of  these — he  was 
alert,  athletic,  and  thirty-seven.  It  is  a  grand  thing 
to  have  had  one's  full  experience  and  having  chased 
all  flying  destinies  through  the  bush,  to  have  caught 
one  and  hold  it  safely  in  the  hand,  while  the  catcher 
is  still  young  and  strong  enough  to  handle  and  tame 
the  captive.  Mr.  Waddy  looked  strong  and  active 
enough  to  catch  and  tame  anything.  But  some 
things  are  tamed  only  with  delicacy  and  tenderness. 
Was  he  destitute  of  these  ?  At  this  moment,  there 
was  no  exhibition  of  any  trait  beyond  nonchalant 
patience,  such  as  men  who  have  had  to  deal  with 
Asiatics  or  Spanish  Americans,  necessarily  acquire. 
As  the  last  film  of  his  smoke-puff  exhales  from  his 
lips,  they  close  under  the  yellow-brown  moustache 
into  an  expression  of  firmness,  and  perhaps  of  pride. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  firm  might  become  stern,  and 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  19 

pride  might  harshen  bitterly,  if  treachery  should 
betray  generosity  and  repel  candour. 

Tossing  his  cheroot-end  into  the  stove,  he  allows 
an  interregnum  for  reverie.  He  leans  his  head  upon 
his  hand;  his  thick  brown  hair  half  hides  the  keen 
sparkle  of  his  grey  eyes;  the  lines  of  his  mouth 
soften.  He  is  thinking  probably  of  welcomes  from 
old  friends,  of  pilgrimages  to  old  shrines.  Suddenly 
he  throws  down  his  hand;  the  proud  expression 
closes  again  about  his  lips,  his  face  hardens,  hard- 
ens  

"  Brown  man,  what  makes  you  look  so  ugly  and 
black?"  says  Sammy,  loquitur.  "Ma,  I  know  he 
wants  to  kill  me  for  wettin'  his  clothes,"  and  Sammy 
wept  boo  !  hoo ! 

"  Don't  cry,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Waddy,  and  put- 
ting his  hand  into  a  pocket  he  thought  his  own,  he 
drew  out  not  the  expected  purse  containing  the  pre- 
sentable shilling,  but  a  strip  of  pigtail  tobacco. 
"  Am  I  brown?  I  am  the  Ancient  Mariner.  I  have 
been  where  the  sun  bakes  men  as  brown  as  that  loaf 
of  gingerbread.  Here  are  two  shillings  out  of  my 
vest  pocket.  Keep  one  yourself  and  buy  that  loaf 
from  your  mother  with  the  other.  My  mother  used 
to  bake  gingerbread  and  my  father  sold  it,  years  ago, 
when  I  was  white,  not  ginger-coloured." 

So  Ira  and  Sammy  came  to  terms  of  peace  and 
good  will  and  munched  together. 

"  I  kind  er  guess  your  things  is  dry  now,  capting," 


20  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

said  Mrs.  Hawkins.  "  I'll  jest  put  the  flatiron  to 
that  air  shirt  and  make  it  as  slick  as  a  slide.  Salt 
water  don't  take  sterch  or  them  collars  would  stan' 
right  up." 

While  Mr.  Waddy  was  recovering  his  habiliments, 
Isaiah  Hawkins,  the  widow's  eldest  son,  came  in. 
He  owned  a  small  coaster  and  was  to  sail  that  after- 
noon for  Portland.    He  came  to  get  his  traps. 

"  Can  you  take  a  passenger?"  inquired  Mr. 
Waddy,  after  the  usual  preliminary  greetings. 

"  Wal,  capting,"  replied  Hawkins,  with  much 
deliberation,  "  I  dunno  as  I  could,  an'  I  dunno  as  I 
couldn't.  What  kind  a  feller  is  this  ere  passenger? 
Kin  he  eat  pork  an'  fish?  " 

"I'm  the  man,"  explained  Mr.  Waddy.  "I 
should  think  I  could  eat  pork  and  fish.  I've  lived 
in  Boston." 

"  Wal,  capting,  come  along  if  yer  like,"  said 
Hawkins  heartily,  "  an'  it  shan't  cost  yer  a  durned 
cent.  'Tain't  every  feller  I'd  take,  but  I  feel  kinder 
'bleeged  to  yer  fer  pickin'  up  Sam." 

Mr.  Waddy  would  not  consent  to  be  a  dead-head, 
but  took  pay  passage  at  once,  to  start  at  two.  Mean- 
while he  strolled  about  the  town,  and  climbing  the 
steep  glacis,  admired  the  glorious  bay  and  the  im- 
pregnable fort.  He  was  entering  when  his  way 
was  stopped  by  the  sentinel. 

"  No  one  admitted  without  special  order,"  an- 
nounced that  functionary. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  21 

"  My  old  friend  Mr.  Waddy  has  special  entree 
everywhere !  "  cried  a  passing  officer,  laying  his  hand 
on  Ira's  shoulder.  "  My  dear  fellow,  you  wouldn't 
let  me  thank  you  at  Inkerman  for  dropping  that 
Cossack.  Now  I  intend  to  pepper  you  with  grati- 
tude." 

"  Oh,  no!  we  never  mention  it,  Granby,"  re- 
torted Ira,  warmly  grasping  the  extended  hand, 
"  unless  you  need  reminding  how  you  dropped  the 
rhinoceros  who  wouldn't  drop  me.  By  the  way, 
I've  had  a  match-box  made  of  his  horn." 

He  pulled  out  his  cigar-case  and  the  match-box. 
They  each  took  a  cigar  and  walked  off  together  to 
Major  Granby's  quarters,  as  coolly  as  if  the  re- 
ciprocal life-saving  they  had  recalled  was  an  every- 
day business. 

"  How  in  the  name  of  Mercury  came  you  here?  " 
asked  the  major,  after  they  were  seated. 

"  Ginger  beer — gingerbread,  beer,"  murmured 
Waddy  abstractedly.  "  Bass'  Pale  Ale.  Yes— ah, 
well!" 

"  What,  ho !  Patrick!  "  called  the  major.  "  Here's 
Mr.  Waddy  come  back  and  wants  his  ale! " 

While  Patrick  grinned  a  cheerful  recognition  and 
drew  the  cork,  Mr.  Waddy  explained  his  position 
and  the  gingerbread  allusion. 

"  I  sail  at  two  for  Portland  in  the  Billy  Blue 
Nose"  he  concluded.  "  Why  won't  you  come  and 
see  me  in  the  States  ?  " 


22  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  Why  not?  I'll  join  you  when  you  please,"  as- 
sented Granby  instantly.  "  I  already  have  a  fur- 
lough.    I  wish  I  could  start  to-day." 

"  Come  by  the  next  steamer,  to-day  fortnight," 
suggested  Ira,  "  and  meet  me  in  Boston  at  the  Tre- 
mont  House.  I'm  really  as  much  a  stranger  as 
you;  but  they  all  know  me.  We'll  see  the  lions 
together." 

"  You'll  have  to  be  a  ladies'  man,  for  my  sake," 
said  the  major.  "  I've  heard  the  American  women 
are  the  loveliest  of  the  world,  and  I've  determined 
to  see  for  myself.  I  thought,  before  I  saw  you,  of 
dropping  in  at  Newport  this  summer.  That's  the 
mart,  I  hear." 

"  Certainly,  we'll  go  there  and  everywhere," 
agreed  Ira.  "  What  do  you  say  to  a  partnership 
for  matrimonial  speculation?  You  put  in  good 
looks,  good  name,  and  glory.  I  contribute  money — 
the  prize,  of  course,  to  be  mine." 

"  You  say  nothing  about  wit,"  the  major  pointed 
out.  "  Modest !  As  to  good  looks,  these  are  per- 
haps degenerate  days,  but  you'll  do  very  well  for  an 
Antinous  with  whiskers,  and  I  used  constantly  in 
Rome  to  be  mistaken  for  the  Apollo,  in  costume  of 
the  period." 

"  Well,  Apollo,  I  leave  you  to  study  attitudes," 
said  Waddy,  rising.  "I  must  be  off.  Good-bye! 
To-day  three  weeks." 

"  So  long!    Here,  Pat!  pack  up  a  carpet-bag  for 


Mr.  Waddy  *s  Return  23 

Mr.  Waddy  and  put  in  some  of  those  short  shirts. 
My  six-feet-one  beats  you  by  three  inches." 

The  Billy  Blue  Nose  was  quite  ready.  Mr. 
Waddy  was  also  ready  and  just  stepping  into  the 
boat  when  he  heard  Sammy's  voice : 

"  Say,  mister !  gimme  another  shilling  to  buy 
gingerbread !  " 

We  leave  the  reader  to  judge  whether  the  prayer 
went  unanswered. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   GENTLE    LADY   OF    FORTUNE    DECIDES    TO    FACE    A 
STORM 

THE  afternoon  was  hot  and  sulky.  Still,  as  the 
party  had  fixed  that  day  for  leaving  The 
Island,  they  would  not  change  their  plan.  Old 
Dempster  said  there  would  certainly  be  "  consider- 
able of  a  blow." 

All  the  party  had  longed  for  a  storm ;  the  young 
ladies  had  rhapsodised  about  billows  and  breakers 
and  driving  spray  and  heroic  encounters  with  war- 
ring elements.  Now  that  the  long  roll  of  premoni- 
tory surges  was  crashing  in  sullenly  on  Black  Rock 
Head  and  Wrecker's  Point,  they  seemed  to  shrink  a 
little  from  billows  unsunlit.  Grandeur  was  too  much 
for  them.  To  recline  on  the  rocks  under  a  parasol 
held  by  a  gentle  cavalier,  this  was  gay  and  dressy 
and  afforded  the  recumbent  and  her  attendant  knight 
indefinite  possibilities.  But  ladies  are  not  lovely 
in  submarine  armour,  and  muslins  limply  collapse 
when  salt  showers  come  whirling  in  from  shattered 
waves.  The  great  wild  terror  of  the  certain  storm 
made  itself  felt  among  the  gay  party.  They  were 
quite  willing  to  hasten  their  departure  and  pass  the 

24 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  25 

night  quietly  at  Loggerly.  They  would  spend  also 
a  quiet  next  day  there  and  take  the  train  on  the 
second  morning  for  Portland  and  Boston. 

Miss  Sullivan  preferred  to  stay  ior  the  promised 
entertainment.  She  seemed  already  a  little  excited 
out  of  her  usual  tranquil  reserve  by  the  thought  that 
Nature  was  to  act  a  wild  drama  for  her  benefit.  Be- 
sides, apart  from  the  storm,  she  was  willing  to  pass 
one  solitary  day  on  the  rocks  and  along  the  beach. 
She  also  longed  for  one  last  master-view  from  the 
mountain  above  Dempster's  house.  She  was  glad 
to  see  all  these  without  the  intrusion  of  gaiety.  It 
may  have  been  a  mood ;  it  may  have  been  character. 
She  would  visit,  for  perpetual  recollection,  the  best 
spots  undisturbed;  a  storm  would  be  clear  gain. 
Mr.  Dempster  promised  to  drive  her  over  to  Log- 
gerly next  evening,  rain  or  shine. 

An  revoir!  and  they  were  off,  some  walking,  some 
already  mounted  into  the  great  farm  wagon.  They 
had  a  very  lively  time  through  the  delicate  birch 
woods.  Miss  Julia  Wilkes  was  quite  sure  she  had 
seen  a  deer.  Blooming  lips  were  brighter  for  the 
strawberries  they  crushed;  rosy  fingers  rosier  for 
plucking  the  same.  When  they  reached  the  open 
country  and  were  all  seated  in  the  wagon,  taking  the 
down-hills  at  a  gallop,  and  the  up-hills  at  an  im- 
petus, Julia  turned  to  her  mother,  that  excellent, 
gossipy  person. 

"  Miss  Sullivan  has  a  strange  fancy,"  said  she, 


26  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  to  wander  about  alone  in  wild  places.  Did  you 
notice  how  almost  handsome  she  was  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  put  in  the  for tis  Gyas  Cutus ;  "  she 
looked  like  a  cheerful  Banshee,  inspired  at  the 
thought  of  a  storm." 

"  Mary  Sullivan  was  nobly  handsome  once,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilkes,  "  and  will  be  soon  again,  I  hope,  now 
that  she  is  rich  and  done  with  all  family  troubles." 

"Is  she  very  rich?"  asked  Cloanthus  Fortisque, 
friend  of  Gyas.  "  I'm  sorry  I'm  so  much  afraid  of 
her.  She  may  be  sweet  as  ice-cream,  but  she  is 
colder.    A  feller  couldn't  sail  in  with  much  chance." 

Miss  Julia  pouted  a  little  at  this  ingenuous  re- 
mark of  Fortisque  and  devoted  herself  to  Gyas 
Cutus  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

It  was  lonely  at  Dempster's  when  the  gay  party 
was  gone.  The  house  looked  singularly  small  and 
mean.  Mrs.  Dempster  was  baking  wondrous  bread ; 
bread  for  which  all  the  visitors  had  gone  away 
bulkier.  Miss  Miranda  Dempster  was  up  to  her 
elbows  in  strawberries.  She  was  a  magnificent 
lioness  of  a  woman,  with  a  tawny  mane  of  redun- 
dant locks. 

The  kitchen  was  close  and  the  hot,  heavy  atmos- 
phere affected  Miss  Sullivan's  views  as  to  the  quality 
of  her  hostess's  bread.  She  walked  out  upon  the 
little  meadow,  a  bit  of  tender  culture  between  the 
forest  and  the  rude  and  rocky  shore.    Old  Dempster 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  27 

and  Daniel,  his  son,  were  hurrying  their  hay  into  the 
ox-cart.  The  oxen  seemed  to  stand  unnecessarily 
knock-kneed  and  feeble  in  the  blasting  heat.  Yet 
the  sun  was  obscured  and  there  came  puffs  of  breeze 
from  seaward.  But  these  were  puffs  explosive, 
sultry,  volcanic,  depressing. 

As  Miss  Sullivan  approached,  Dempster  was  toss- 
ing up  an  enormous  mass  of  hay  to  Daniel.  A  puff 
of  wind  caught  it  and  one  half  "  diffused  to  empty 
air,"  making  air  no  longer  empty  but  misty  with 
hay-seed,  and  aromatic  with  mild  fragrance. 
Dempster  shook  himself  and  stood  leaning  on  his 
pitchfork.  He  was  a  grand  old  yeoman,  worthy  to 
be  the  father  of  heroes.  The  Island,  though  not  a 
solitary  one,  had  been  to  him  a  Juan  Fernandez.  He 
was  a  contriver  of  all  contrivances,  a  builder  of  all 
that  may  be  built.  He  farmed,  he  milled,  he  fished, 
he  navigated  in  shapely  vessels  of  his  own  shaping ; 
his  roof-tree  was  a  tree  of  his  own  woods,  felled 
and  cleft  by  himself.  He  had  split  his  own  shingles 
as  easily  as  other  men  mend  a  toothpick ;  with  these 
he  had  tented  his  roof-tree  over.  Miss  Sullivan  and 
he  were  great  friends,  and  now,  as  she  drew  near, 
he  looked  at  her  with  kindly  eyes. 

"  See,  Miss  Sullivan,"  said  he,  "  them  oxen  has 
stopped  chewin'  the  cud — another  sure  sign  of  a 
storm.  The  wind  is  sou'west.  It  '11  be  short,  but 
hot  an'  heavy — a  kind  er  horriken." 

"  If  the  storm  is  severe,  what  will  all  these  fish- 


28  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

ing-vessels  do  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  have  counted  nearly 
a  hundred  this  afternoon." 

"  Most  on  'em  will  go  birds'-nestin'  'round  in  the 
bays  an'  coves  along  shore.  Some  on  'em  alluz  gits 
caught,  an'  that's  what  makes  me  feel  kind  er 
anxious  now.  You  see,  my  boy  Willum  has  been 
buyin'  a  schooner  up  to  New  Brunswick,  with  a 
pardner  of  his,  and  he's  jest  as  like  as  not  to  be 
takin'  her  down  to  Boston  about  now." 

"  I  hope  not !  "  cried  Miss  Sullivan,  shuddering 
involuntarily  in  the  hot  chill  of  another  isolated 
blast. 

"  Wal,  worryin'  won't  mend  nothin',"  said  the 
father,  with  stoic  calmness.  "  Come,  Dan'l,  we  must 
hurry  up  with  this  'ere  hay,"  and  the  two  fell  to 
work  again ;  but  the  face  of  the  elder  man  was  very 
grave  as  he  glanced,  from  time  to  time,  at  the  grey 
sky  and  sullen  sea. 

Miss  Sullivan  strolled  on  across  the  meadow  to 
Black  Rock  Head.  There  she  had  often  sat  in  bril- 
liant days  and  sent  her  looks  and  thoughts  a-dream- 
ing  beyond  the  misty  edge  of  the  ocean  world.  To- 
day a  strange,  dismal  heaviness  in  the  air  made 
dreams  nightmares.  Perpetual  calm  seemed  des- 
tined to  dwell  upon  the  ocean,  so  unruffled  was  its 
surface  and  unsuggestive  of  storms  to  be.  Looking 
down  from  the  Head,  Miss-  Sullivan  would  scarcely 
have  discerned  the  great,  slow  surges,  lifting  and 
falling  monotonously.     They  made  themselves  felt, 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  29 

however,  when  they  met  the  opponent  crag.  A  vast 
chasm  stood  open  in  its  purple  rocks,  and  as  the  lazy 
waves  fell  upon  the  unyielding  shore,  they  flowed  in, 
filling  this  cavernous  gulf  almost  to  the  brim  with 
foaming  masses.  Then,  as  the  surge  deliberately 
withdrew,  these  ambitious  waters,  abandoned  and 
unsupported,  plunged  downward  in  a  wild  whirl- 
pooling  panic,  stream  overwhelming  stream,  all 
seething  together  furiously,  hissing,  roaring, 
thundering,  until  again  they  met  the  incoming 
breaker,  and  again  essayed  as  vainly  to  rise  above 
control  and  overcome  the  enduring  land. 

Mists,  slowly  uprising,  had  given  sunset  a  dull 
reception,  and  the  great  southeastern  cloud-bank  was 
growing  fast  heavier  and  heavier.  Puffs  of  driving 
fog  began  to  hide  the  mountain  and  lower  down 
upon  the  Dempster  house.  Darkness  fell,  and  at 
last  Miss  Sullivan  was  driven  in. 


CHAPTER  V 

A    WRECK    AND   A    RESCUE 

ALL  night  the  storm  did  its  tyrannous  work  over 
^  sea  and  land ;  all  night,  around  old  Dempster's 
house,  it  howled  its  direful  menaces.  But  the  house 
stood  firm,  for  it  had  been  built  to  withstand  the 
shock  of  any  storm ;  only  shivered  now  and  then  as 
the  gale  smote  it  with  heavier  hand,  then  tore  on  its 
way  lamenting. 

More  than  once  Miss  Sullivan  awoke  and  lay 
listening  to  the  storm's  wild  voices — voices  which 
recalled  the  past— voices  whispering,  pleading,  sigh- 
ing, moaning  to  be  heard  again  and  again  answered. 
And  they  were  answered — answered  with  bitter 
moans  and  tears,  and  at  last  with  prayers  for  pa- 
tience and  peace,  and,  if  need  were,  for  pardon. 

Neither  Mrs.  Dempster  nor  Miranda  understood 
the  enthusiasm  of  Miss  Sullivan  for  storms  and 
breakers.  There  were  several  things  they  would 
rather  do  than  venture  out  next  morning :  the  chief 
of  which  was  to  stay  at  home. 

Old  Dempster  looked  uneasily  at  the  cloud-drift. 
The  wind  was  as  furious  as  ever,  but  the  rain  came 
only  in  keen  showers. 

30 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  31 

"  These  'ere  sou'-easters,"  said  he,  "  never  last 
long  at  this  time  o'  the  year.  It  '11  be  clear  as  moon- 
shine by  long  about  noon.  But  ef  you've,  got  your 
mind  set  on  goin'  out,  I'll  rig  you  out  so  you'll  be 
dry  as  a  rooster.  Dan'l,  go  down  to  the  mill  an' 
bring  up  them  short  overhauls." 

Dan'l  brought  up  a  great  coat  of  yellow,  oiled 
canvas,  and  a  tarpaulin  with  a  flap  like  the  tail  of  a 
Barbary  sheep.  Mrs.  Dempster  supplied  a  pair  of 
Dan'l's  fishing  boots,  outgrown  by  him  in  one  bare- 
footed summer,  but  still  impervious. 

Miss  Sullivan,  a  person  very  critical  in  her  toilet, 
hesitated  a  little  at  this  unaccustomed  attire.  How- 
ever, it  was  the  sensible  style.  Miranda  aided  her 
in  encasing  herself.  Stiffish  were  both  overhauls 
and  boots ;  stiffness  itself,  at  the  first  interview. 

When  they  returned  to  the  kitchen  to  stand  in- 
spection, a  sound  was  heard  as  if  the  kettle  of  dried 
apples  boiling  on  the  stove  had  suddenly  bubbled 
and  sputtered  over.  It  was  Dan'l,  utterly  unable  to 
control  his  laughter.  He  immediately  disappeared, 
and  was  heard  in  the  wood-shed  endeavouring  to 
whistle,  but  constantly  breaking  down  into  a 
snicker. 

"  Poor  Dan'l !  "  said  Miss  Sullivan ;  "  I  must  look 
very  droll,  indeed." 

"  Wal,"  said  Mrs.  Dempster,  "  you  are  kind  er 
like  my  idee  of  a  Mormon — I  mean  one  o'  them 
folks  in  the  pictures  with  gals'  heads  an'  more  like 


32  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

a  codfish  to  the  other  end.  Now  if  one  o'  them  gals 
should  make  herself  decent  with  a  set  of  overhauls 
— an'  massy  knows  she  wants  suthin'  to  cover  her 
— she'd  look  jest  as  pooty  as  you  do.  Wouldn't 
she,  old  man? " 

To  avoid  other  comparisons  as  complimentary  to 
mermen  or  maids,  Miss  Sullivan  ran  from  her  circle 
of  amused  admirers  and,  passing  among  the  pathless 
cucumber  vines  of  the  little  garden,  began  awk- 
wardly to  climb  the  fence  that  kept  any  amphibious 
rodent  monster  of  the  deep  from  predatory  excur- 
sions among  the  radishes  and  hollyhocks.  Beyond 
the  garden,  a  thicket  of  wild  fruit  vines  nearly 
closed  the  shoreward  path.  Drops  of  rain  hung 
heavy,  crushing  the  bushes  with  pearly  wreaths. 
A  few  raspberries  were  only  waiting  one  sunny  day 
to  take  their  dull  purple  crimson  of  ripeness.  It 
was  wet  work  to  penetrate  by  the  obliterated  path. 
Miss  Sullivan,  however,  crowded  steadily  forward. 

When  the  rustling  of  her  passage  through  the 
thicket  ceased,  she  could  hear  the  neighbour  crash- 
ing of  breakers.  Black  Rock  Head  rose  to  the 
north  of  the  rocky  cove,  home  of  Dempster's  boat. 
Southward,  stood  other  headlands,  and  southern- 
most. Wreckers  Point,  where  all  the  fury  of  surges 
driven  by  the  southeast  gale  would  be  felt.  When 
the  mingled  mist,  spray,  and  rain  were  drifted  away 
for  a  moment,  and  shrank  to  give  space  to  a  great, 
howling  blast,  she  could  see  a  lofty  white  ghostly 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  33 

object,  like  a  ship  in  full  sail,  dimly  visible,  sud- 
denly lift  itself  against  the  dark  front  of  the  Head. 
Then  it  sank  away,  dashed  to  nothingness  of  foamy 
wreck.  A  hollow  roar  came,  as  the  cavernous  cleft 
of  the  Head  was  overcrowded  with  the  breaker,  and, 
gushing  up,  the  mass  of  uprising  waters  over- 
whelmed the  promontory  and,  spreading,  mantled 
over  its  smooth  surfaces  and  tore  in  many  cataracts 
down  its  chasms  to  the  sea.  The  Head,  through 
veils  of  mist,  seemed  like  a  distant  dome  mountain 
of  snow. 

Black  Rock  Head  was  evidently  unapproachable, 
so  Miss  Sullivan  faced  the  blast  and  its  blinding, 
driving  spray,  for  a  sheltered  spot  farther  on  to- 
ward Wrecker's  Point.  She  found  that  her  fore- 
ground of  vision  of  storm-experiences  was  crowd- 
ing itself  with  quite  unsatisfactory  detail.  There 
was  no  sieve  of  trees  by  the  shore  to  filter  the  salt 
showers.  Sometimes  there  was  but  a  narrow  path 
between  slippery  slopes  of  grass  and  rounded  rocks 
glistening  with  the  touch  of  the  more  ambitious 
breakers.  As  she  passed  by  these  perilous  places,  an 
unlooked-for  wash  of  water  would  come  hungrily 
up  and  hasten  hungrily  back,  willing  to  sweep  away 
fragile  womanhood.  The  morning  was  well  ad- 
vanced when,  with  slow  and  difficult  progress,  the 
lady  who,  after  her  bold  vigour  of  devotion  to  her 
object,  merits,  at  least  for  the  nonce,  the  title  of  our 
heroine,  reached  Wrecker's  Point. 


34  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Of  seeing  much  that  storms  may  do  she  had  had 
her  heart's  desire.  All  the  dread  fury  of  maddened 
winds  had  burst  upon  her  till  she  had  tottered  back 
to  some  shelter  of  intervening  rock,  appalled  at 
tempest  terrors  that  houselings  never  know.  In 
tremulous  pauses,  when  the  gale  was  still,  she  had 
heard  the  coming  thunder  of  the  long  breaker,  com- 
ing awfully  because  an  infinite  ocean  drove  it  on; 
and  as  this  went  bursting  like  an  upward  avalanche 
from  crag  to  crag  beyond,  in  the  silence  while  the 
next  billow  was  lifting  she  had  heard  those  dread- 
ful ocean  voices  surrounding  her,  a  wild  atmosphere 
of  remorse — of  remorse  unpardoned  and  forever 
unpardonable  for  all  the  murderous  wrongs  of  ocean 
to  the  world.  And  after  these  came  the  bewilder- 
ing whirl  of  spray  and  rain,  the  crash,  the  hissing 
fall,  and  then  the  great  blow  of  the  breaker  like  a 
knell.  It  hammered  at  the  world's  foundations, 
until  that  solid  world  seemed  an  unstable  thing  to 
tread. 

The  rain  had  ceased  when  Miss  Sullivan  reached 
the  Point.  It  was  clearing,  and  she  could  look  more 
widely  over  the  immense  agitation  and  sway  of 
the  lurid  sea.  She  sat  for  an  hour  or  wandered 
about  over  perils  of  wave-worn  crags,  that  waves 
were  now  striving  vainly  to  shatter.  At  last  she 
remembered  that  she  had  the  beach  still  to  visit 
before  her  return.  Her  path  thither  was  through 
a  wood,  tangled  and  bewildering  with  vines  and 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  35 

underbrush.  The  storm  was  now  almost  a  calm, 
but  the  thunder  of  the  surges  followed  her  as  she 
hastened  along  the  dripping  trail.  Penetrating 
slowly  through  the  wood  by  paths  of  uneasy  foot- 
ing, she  began  to  distinguish  the  distant  part  of  the 
beach.  It  formed  one  end  of  a  parallelogram, 
whose  sides  were  dark  ranges  of  low,  broken  preci- 
pice and  the  farther  end  the  blank  of  sea.  Oppo- 
site her,  the  precipice  continued  up  into  a  wooded 
mountain.  The  sun  was  just  breaking  forth  and 
scattering  a  slender,  illumined  scarf  of  mist,  that 
wavered  in  among  the  trees  of  the  mountain-side, 
and  melted  into  that  ever-fresh  wonder  of  beauty, 
the  calm  sky  of  summer. 

There  was  much  rubbish  strewn  along  the  beach. 
Miss  Sullivan  could  see  old  waterlogged  slabs,  logs 
purple  with  long  drowning,  pieces  of  spar,  a  plank 
or  so.  As  she  descended  and  looked  over  the  nearer 
sands,  she  saw  more  rubbish ;  more  than  usual,  per- 
haps of  a  recent  wreck.  Such  a  storm  could  hardly 
pass  without  touching  the  pockets  of  jolly  under- 
writers— less  jolly  over  their  noon  sandwich  as  the 
telegraph  told  of  ships  ashore. 

The  path  began  to  skirt  the  edge  of  the  broken 
cliff,  and  finally  descended  rapidly,  by  a  series  of 
dangerous  stepping  places,  toward  the  level.  It 
was  quite  evident  there  had  been  a  wreck.  The 
water  deepened  very  slowly  out  from  the  shore,  and 
each  swell,  as  it  swept  in,  drove  along  bits  or  masses 


36  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

of  wreckage,  and  retiring,  dragged  them  back,  to  be 
again  heaved  farther  up. 

Miss  Sullivan  had  never  before  seen  a  wreck. 
She  suddenly  seemed  very  curious  to  examine  this 
one  nearer, — passionately  curious,  indeed, — and  be- 
gan to  leap  down  the  hillside  rather  precipitately. 
However,  she  was  now  used  to  DanTs  boots ;  other- 
wise her  headlong  speed  would  have  been  danger- 
ous. She  found  it  rather  deep  trudging  in  the 
sand,  deeper  and  more  difficult  as  she  ran  rapidly 
down  after  the  returning  waves ;  and  she  found  it  a 
struggle  for  her  own  life  in  the  undertow,  as  she 
resolutely  plunged  forward  and,  grasping  some 
wrecked  fragments,  fought  with  so  much  desperate 
womanish  force  as  she  had  to  drag  them  in  to  shore 
and  safety. 

These  fragments  had  lashed  to  them  the  body  of 
a  man. 

The  sea  had  done  with  this  object  what  it  chose; 
it  was  weary  of  its  plaything,  and  now  aided  her  in 
her  merciful  task.  For  many  moments  she  was 
ready  to  despair  and  drown ;  but  hope  was  her  ally, 
and  a  nervous,  unsuspected  strength,  and  at  last  she 
gained  a  firm  footing  and  dragged  the  man  away 
from  the  waves  up  on  the  wet  sand. 

She  sank  exhausted  in  a  dizzy  trance,  blinded  and 
fainting.  It  had  been  a  terrible,  heart-rending 
agony  of  combat — a  very  doubtful  strife  for  two 
lives  with  the  hungry  sea, 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  37 

Starting  up  at  last,  she  seemed  to  shrink  from 
quieter  examination  of  the  wrecked  person.  But 
conquering  fear  or  superstition  in  a  moment's 
struggle,  she  knelt  beside  him.  His  arm  was  raised, 
covering  his  face,  and  his  clenched  hand  held  some- 
thing that  was  attached  by  a  strand  of  silk  around 
his  neck.  As  she  removed  the  arm,  the  hand  relaxed 
in  hers  and  a  small  book  fell  from  it;  she  pulled  it 
from  the  silk  and  laid  it  hastily  by. 

Parting  the  hair  from  the  sadly  bruised  and  bat- 
tered face,  she  looked  vainly  into  closed  eyes  for  any 
light  of  life.  She  laid  her  hand  where  the  heart 
should  be  beating;  she  placed  her  lips  close,  nay, 
almost  touching,  livid  lips,  to  catch  a  faintest  breath  ; 
she  did  all  those  passionately  desperate  things  that 
one  may  do,  feeling  that  another  life  may  depend 
on  each  lapsing  moment's  effort.  She  had  nothing 
to  cut  the  lashings  which  bound  him  to  the  wreck, 
and  tore  at  them  furiously,  vainly,  with  her  teeth. 
There  was  a  hard,  dry  sobbing  in  her  throat,  and 
her  features  worked  convulsively  as  she  paused,  ex- 
hausted, and  gazed  down  at  that  white,  quiet  face. 
She  was  ready  again  to  despair.  She  could  not 
leave  him ;  would  no  help  come  ?  The  sun  seemed 
oppressively  hot  and  cruel — a  staring,  insulting  full- 
ness of  daylight. 

Help  was  coming.  She  heard  a  cheerful  woman's 
voice  singing  a  negro  melody  in  the  wood.  Miranda 
had  evidently  expected  that  Miss  Sullivan's  circuit 


38  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

would  bring  her  to  the  beach  and  had  come  to  join 
her. 

Miss  Sullivan  essayed  to  scream,  but  could  not. 
Miranda  came  to  the  bank,  and  seeing  her  stand- 
ing like  a  ghost,  vainly  striving  to  beckon,  divined 
the  whole  in  an  instant  and  sprang  down  the 
steps. 

"  Is  he  dead?  "  cried  Miranda. 

The  formalising  of  a  dreaded  thought  into  words 
makes  its  terrors  doubly  terrible. 

"Dead!  I  fear  so,"  said  Miss  Sullivan,  very 
slowly  and  with  a  shiver. 

"  He  shan't  die  if  we  can  help  it,"  said  Miranda 
resolutely.  "  Here,  Miss  Mary,  you  run  right  up  to 
the  second  field.  Up  there,  Uncle  Jake's  out 
with  the  boys,  seeing  if  they  can  mow  after  the 
shower.  Bring  'em  down  quick — I'll  cut  him 
loose." 

Suiting  act  to  word,  she  whipped  out  a  jagged 
penknife  of  schoolmarm  days  from  her  pocket,  and 
began  to  saw  at  the  lashings. 

Miss  Sullivan  clambered,  panting,  up  the  cliff 
and  plunged  into  the  wood.  Presently  she  appeared 
at  a  run,  followed  by  Uncle  Jake  and  the  two  boys 
— biggish  boys  of  six  feet  two. 

Miranda  had  cut  the  lashings  of  rotten  stuff. 
Uncle  Jake  supported  the  man  in  his  arms.  He  was 
perfectly  insensible. 

"  He's  not  dead,"  said  Uncle  Jake. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  39 

"  He'll  live ;  I  know  he'll  live !  "  cried  Miranda. 

"  Hooray!  "  shouted  the  two  boys  tumultuously — 
a  view-halloo  for  a  found  life. 

"  Thank  God !  "  said  Miss  Sullivan,  with  a  quick, 
irrepressible  sob  of  thankfulness. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN    WHICH    MISS    SULLIVAN    FINDS    MANY    REASONS 
FOR   DEPARTURE 

UNCLE  JAKE  and  his  giant  progeny  made 
light  of  their  burden,  all  the  half-mile  to  old 
Dempster's.  They  were  confident,  feeling  their  own 
vigorous  blood  beating  healthily  from  end  to  end  of 
their  great  bodies,  that  no  man,  not  dead,  could  die. 
In  their  experience  as  farmers  and  fishermen,  they 
had  seen  much  more  dangerous  hurts  recovered 
from  than  any  of  the  stranger's. 

"  He's  pretty  well  bunged  up  an'  has  swallered 
an  almighty  lot  o'  salt  water;  but  that  '11  do  him 
good  an'  cure  the  bruises.  Why,  I  shouldn't 
wonder,"  continued  Uncle  Jake,  gradually  talking 
himself  into  positiveness,  "  ef  he  was  jumpin'  'round 
by  day  after  to-morrer,  as  spry  as  a  two-year-old. 
He  ain't  a  sailor.  I  kind  er  guess  he  was  a  passen- 
ger aboard  some  'long-shore  craft.  That  wrecked 
stuff  looked  like  it  belonged  to  some  Down  East 
schooner.  I  hope  it  warn't  Bill  Dempster's.  Now, 
Mirandy,  you  take  good  keer  o'  this  here  chap  an' 
p'r'aps  he'll  be  a-buckin'  up  to  yer,  when  he's  so's  to 
be  'round." 

40 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  41 

Miranda  and  Miss  Sullivan  smiled.  Uncle  Jake 
was  evidently  a  little  more  concerned  than  he  pre- 
tended, and  chatted  to  keep  up  their  spirits.  Once 
or  twice  when  the  bearers  paused  to  shift  hands  or 
rest  a  moment,  their  burden  seemed  to.  make  a  futile 
attempt  toward  life.  There  was  a  tremor  of  eyelid 
and  lip — perhaps  a  slight  unclosing  of  the  eye. 
Still,  if  there  was  any  change,  deathliness  soon 
came  again. 

Miss  Sullivan  and  Miranda  ran  on  to  make  prep- 
arations. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  latter,  "  that  we'd  better  put 
him  in  your  room,  if  you  still  mean  to  go,  as  you 
decided  yesterday." 

"  I  must  go,"  replied  the  other,  with  a  quick  in- 
taking  of  the  breath,  "  unless  I  can  be  of  some  ser- 
vice to  this  gentleman."  Was  it  her  fine  instinct 
that  had  recognised  the  gentleman? 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  can  do  more  than  mother 
and  I  will — except  that  you  have  kinder,  pleasanter 
ways,"  Miranda  assured  her.  "  P'r'aps  this  man 
will  turn  out  to  be  a  sailor  'long  shore,  after  all,  and 
we'll  know  how  to  nuss  him  better  than  you  would." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Sullivan,  "  we  shall  see;"  but 
it  was  evident  that  in  her  heart  she  was  quite  certain 
he  was  no  sailor. 

Mrs.  Dempster  flurried  about  and  had  everything 
ready  in  the  invalid's  room  by  the  time  Uncle  Jake 
arrived.     The  three  men  carried  their  burden  into 


42  Mr.  Waddy's   Return 

his  hospital,  while  the  women  waited  anxiously  for 
a  report.    Life  or  Death? 

Old  Dempster  and  Dan'l  at  this  moment  re- 
turned from  catching  and  feeding  White  Socks  and 
preparing  the  buggy  for  Miss  Sullivan's  journey. 
While  they  were  hearing  the  history  of  the  rescue, 
Uncle  Jake  came  out  with  a  cheerful  look. 

"  He  ain't  no  sailor,"  he  announced.  "  Here's  his 
pocket-book  with  three  hundred  an'  fifty  dollars  in 
gold.  You  just  take  that,  old  woman,  and  don't  let 
Dan'l  use  any  on  'em  for  buttons  to  his  new  swaller- 
tail.  Wal,  Miss  Sullivan,  I  guess  your  man  '11  git 
well.  He's  breathin'  reg'lar,  but  don't  seem  to 
know  nothin'  yit." 

Miranda  went  to  take  her  place  as  nurse  by  the 
bedside.  By-and-by,  her  mother  needing  her  for  a 
few  moments,  she  called  Miss  Sullivan. 

The  wrecked  man  was  beginning  to  stir  about  un- 
easily. He  murmured  and  muttered  names,  evi- 
dently those  uppermost  in  his  waking  thought.  Life 
was  struggling  to  regain  voluntary  control.  He  was 
feverish.  Miss  Sullivan  gave  him  from  time  to  time 
spoonfuls  of  stimulant ;  his  weakness  and  exhaustion 
needed  this.  It  was  a  new  position  for  her,  and  she 
managed  rather  awkwardly, — more  awkwardly  than 
one  would  have  expected  who  knew  her  usual  deft- 
ness. Once,  when  his  eyes  again  half  opened,  she 
shrank  away,  and  when  he  again  became  delirious 
and  rejected  his  restorative  and  went  on  speaking 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  43 

wildly  and  incoherently,  mingling  names,  words  of 
hate  and  words  of  love  and  words  of  dreary  despair, 
she  burst  into  a  sudden  passion  of  excited  tears  and 
called  Miranda  to  come  immediately  and  relieve  her. 
She  evidently  was  not  fit  to  be  a  calm  nurse  to  the 
stranger :  a  fact  sufficiently  curious,  since  her  tem- 
perament was  quite  the  nursely  one.  But  perhaps 
she  was  too  much  concerned  for  her  protege. 

The  afternoon  hastened  away.  The  sufferer 
seemed  momentarily  improving.  He  had  now  fallen 
into  a  quiet  sleep.  Mr.  Dempster  appeared  to  ask  the 
plans  of  his  guest — to  go  or  not  to  go? 

Miss  Sullivan  said  she  felt  that  she  could  be  of  no 
real  service ;  she  was,  of  course,  much  interested  in 
the  final  recovery  of  her  waif,  but  she  could  have 
news  of  him  from  Miranda ;  she  ought  not  to  detain 
her  friends  at  Loggerly. 

What  she  did  not  say,  in  spite  of  a  somewhat  evi- 
dent anxiety  to  find  reasons  for  departure,  was  that 
she  did  not  dare  trust  herself  to  encounter  the 
stranger  on  his  recovery,  so  shaken  was  she  by  cer- 
tain inward  tremors,  so  prostrated  in  strength  and 
spirits — the  result,  no  doubt,  of  her  efforts  in  his 
behalf.  An  instinct  of  self-protection  urged  to 
flight.     She  gave  the  word,  "  Go." 

White  Socks  and  the  buggy  came  to  the  door. 
Dan'l  stepped  forward  with  a  bunch  of  hollyhocks, 
pink,  yellow,  and  purple.  He  got  a  very  unexpected 
kiss — unexpected  by  giver  and  receiver. 


44  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  Thank  you  for  your  boots,  Dan'l.  I  could  not 
have  gone  a  step  without  them." 

There  was  a  'very  blushing  Dan'l,  a  very  pensive 
Dan'l,  a  very  manly  Dan'l,  a  very  like-a-first-lover 
Dan'l,  about  the  premises  that  evening.  He  doubled 
his  fists  and  said  "  Durn  it!  "  very  often,  but  always 
ended  with  a  pleased  smile.  Dan'l  was  having  his 
first  glimpses  into  fairyland ;  his  world  seemed  en- 
chanted, as  he  wandered  out  through  the  ferns  to 
sunset — strawberries  his  pretence. 

Everyone  was  sorry  to  part  with  Miss  Sullivan. 
With  Miranda  especially,  her  adieux  were  most 
affectionate.  These  two  had  been  engaged  in  the 
romantic  duty  of  saving  a  life. 

"  Write  me  every  day,  Miranda,"  were  Miss  Sul- 
livan's last  words,  and  she  quite  blushed  as  she  ut- 
tered them.  "  Write  me  every  day  and  tell  me  how 
he  does." 

Old  Dempster  drove  her  away  in  the  delicious 
summer  evening.  White  Socks  made  good  play  and 
brought  them  into  Loggerly  at  late  twilight. 

All  the  party  greeted  Miss  Sullivan  cordially  and 
gaily  asked  her  experiences  of  storm  life.  She  did 
not  dwell  upon  her  share  in  the  rescue — some  oc- 
cult influence  seemed  to  hold  her  back  from  speak- 
ing of  it — and  soon  retired.  Extreme  fatigue  saved 
her  from  the  excitement  of  dreams,  and  she  sank 
into  the  blessedness  of  a  sleep  undisturbed  by  storm- 
iness  either   from  within  or  without.      Sleep  and 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  45 

change  of  scene  will  draw  a  blank  between  her  and 
the  adventures  of  to-day :  but  she  will  hardly  forget 
them.  Mad  storms  by  the  maddened  sea  are  not 
daily  events  in  the  lives  of  quiet  ladies  of  fortune; 
nor  does  it  happen  to  every  promenader  by  a  beach 
to  be  the  point  of  safety  whither  a  returning  wan- 
derer may  drift  away  from  his  death. 

After  Miss  Sullivan's  disappearance,  her  com- 
panions all  talked  of  her,  as  people  always  do  of  the 
dear  departed. 

"  Odd  idea,  that  of  hers — to  go  out  in  the  wet," 
observed  Gyas.  "  How  would  you  and  I  look,  old 
Clo,  taking  a  picturesque  ducking?  " 

"  Did  anyone  ever  see  you  doing  anything  pic- 
turesque, Mr.  Cutus?"  inquired  Miss  Julia  inno- 
cently. 

"  Pictures  are  done  of  him — lots  of  'em  by 
Scalper,"  said  Cloanthus.  "  Scalper  says  his  name 
describes  him  exactly — he's  the  best  guy  he  can 
find.  There — I  wouldn't  have  told  that,  Gyas,  if 
you  hadn't  called  me  old  Clo.  You  know  I  don't 
like  nicknames." 

"  I  wonder  Miss  Sullivan  never  married,"  re- 
marked someone,  to  end  this  controversy. 

"  Miss  Sullivan  has  not  been  rich  very  long,"  said 
Mrs.  Wilkes,  in  a  tone  to  indicate  that  no  further 
explanation  was  needed ;  "  only  since  the  death  of 
her  step-father.  He  had  some  property  in  Chicago 
which  suddenly  became  of  enormous  value.    He  left 


46  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

everything  to  her.  You  know  her  own  family  were 
great  people  once,  but  lost  caste  and  wealth  by  a 
transaction  of  her  father's.  After  that,  she  was 
obliged  to  teach  in  a  public  school  for  a  while.  Then 
she  became  governess  to  Clara  Waddie  and  Diana, 
Mr.  Waddie's  ward.  When  they  went  to  Europe, 
she  came  to  us." 

"  Yes !  "  said  Julia,  with  ardency.  "  I  was  an  im- 
mense little  fool,  till  then.  But,  mamma,  wasn't 
there  a  story  of  a  love  affair  of  hers,  while  she  was 
young?  " 

"  Horace  Belden  hinted  something  of  the  kind," 
replied  her  mother,  "  and  that  he  was  the  object. 
But  he  is  very  willing  to  claim  conquests.  As  soon 
as  the  news  of  her  great  inheritance  came,  while  she 
was  with  us  in  Paris,  Mr.  Belden  called  upon  her. 
He  pretended  great  surprise  that  she  was  our  gov- 
erness and  regret  that  he  had  not  seen  his  old  friend 
before." 

"  He  knew  it,  I'm  sure  he  did !  "  cried  Julia. 
"  Miss  Sullivan  and  I  met  him  twice  in  the  Louvre, 
and  both  times  he  dodged — palpably.  I  could  not 
understand  why." 

"  Well,"  continued  Mrs.  Wilkes,  serenely  pick- 
ing up  her  story  where  she  had  been  interrupted, 
"  with  the  news  of  the  fortune  came  Mr.  Belden. 
Miss  Sullivan  was  in  the  salon  with  me.  He  went 
up  to  her  with  that  soft  manner  which  he  thinks 
so  irresistible.     '  My  dear  Miss  Mary,'  he  said,  ''I 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  47 

had  no  idea  that  you  were  here  with  my  friends. 
Permit  me  to  be  among  the  first  to  congratulate  you. 
It  seems  that  the  Fates  do  not  always  err  in  dis- 
tributing their  good  gifts.  How  long  it  is  since  we 
have  met !  Where  have  you  been  this  age  ?  '  Mary 
received  him  rather  icily ;  and  afterwards  she  would 
never  speak  of  him,  except  to  say  that  they  were 
neighbours  in  childhood.  I  suspect  that  it  was 
merely  his  slights  during  her  poverty  that  dis- 
pleased her — I  don't  believe  she  was  ever  in  love 
with  him." 

"  Was  not  that  the  time  when  he  was  so  attentive 
to  Diana?  "  asked  Julia. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  babbled  the  good,  gossipy  Mrs. 
Wilkes,  "  and  she  liked  him,  as  debutantes  are 
very  apt  to  like  men  of  the  world ;  but  Clara  Waddie 
and  Diana  and  Miss  Sullivan  were  always  together, 
and  whenever  Mr.  Belden  went,  he  found  his  '  old 
friend '  cool  and  distant  as  possible.  I  don't  think 
Mary  ever  spoke  of  him  to  Diana,  but  there  came 
a  sudden  end  of  sentimental  tete-a-tetes  such  as 
they  had  had  in  Switzerland,  and  when  he  pro- 
posed to  Diana  to  go  off  and  look  at  some  picture, 
or  point  of  view,  she  always  made  it  a  condition  to 
invite  Miss  Sullivan." 

"Ah,  these  duennas!  "  said  the  brave  Gyas,  who 
had  frequently  found  his  bravery  of  heart  and  toilet 
to  become  naught  in  their  presence.  "  But  who  is 
this  Diana  ?    Is  her  other  name  Moonshine  ?    I  know 


48  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

everybody  and  don't  know  her.  Where  did  you 
pick  her  up?  " 

"  Pick  her  up ! "  exclaimed  Julia,  in  wrath. 
"  Diana !  Why,  she  would  hardly  touch  anyone 
with  her  parasol,  except  for  friendship's  sake — and 
she's  the  dearest  girl !  You'll  see  her  this  summer, 
but  she  won't  let  you  talk  to  her,  because  you  are 
not  agreeable  enough,"  and  Miss  Julia  blushed  a 
little  the  next  moment  and  was  sorry  for  her  wrath 
at  the  brave  Gyas. 

"  Is  she  rich?  "  asked  the  prudent  Cloanthus. 

"  Of  course ;  she  is  very  rich.  She  owns  Texas," 
replied  Julia  confidently. 

"  Texas !  "  echoed  Cloanthus,  bewildered  by  the 
spacious  thought.  "  Isn't  that  a  state  or  a  country, 
or  a  part  of  Mexico,  or  something?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is,"  admitted  Julia ;  "  perhaps  she 
only  owns  half  of  it.  But  I  am  sure  I've  heard  her 
speak  of  riding  for  a  day  over  her  own  land." 

Mrs.  Wilkes  was  now  asleep  in  her  chair — hence, 
and  hence  only,  her  silence.  She  awoke  suddenly 
and  reminded  her  friends  of  their  early  morning 
start.    They  separated  for  the  night. 

Next  day,  when  the  conductor  of  the  railroad 
train  came  to  Miss  Sullivan  for  her  fare,  she  trans- 
ferred her  purse  from  her  bag  to  the  pocket  of  her 
travelling  dress.  As  she  did  so,  she  felt  an  un- 
familiar object.  It  proved  to  be  the  book  she  had 
taken  from  the  drowning  man's  hand,  and,  without 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  49 

thinking,  dropped  into  her  pocket.  It  had  been  pro- 
tected by  a  covering  of  oiled  silk.  The  stitches  in 
drying  had  given  way  and  the  book  was  slipping 
out.  She  thought  there  could  be  no  harm  in  her 
opening  it. 

It  was  an  old,  well-worn  Testament.  On  the  title- 
page  was  the  inscription  "  M.  Janeway  to  I. 
Waddy."  It  was  very  touching  to  think  of  this 
drowning  man  clinging  to  the  last  to  this  emblem 
of  his  religion,  and  perhaps  token  of  an  early  love. 
No  doubt  it  was  in  sympathy  with  some  such 
thought  as  this  that  Miss  Sullivan's  hands  began 
suddenly  to  tremble,  and  her  eyes  to  fill  with  tears 
as  she  turned  over  the  sacred  pages. 

The  book  opened  naturally  in  her  hand  at  a  fa- 
miliar passage ;  she  read  a  few  lines ;  then  the  hot 
tears  blinded  her  and  she  put  the  book  hastily  away. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A     PEPPERY     INVALID     WHO     DREAMS     DREAMS     AND 
BRINGS    BAD    NEWS 

IN  the  morning   Mr.  Waddy  awaked,  and,  look- 
ing feebly  around,  discovered  Mrs.  Dempster. 

"  Where  is  the  other?  "  he  asked,  half  rising  and 
falling  back  disappointed. 

Mrs.  Dempster  called  her  daughter. 

Miranda  came,  splendidly  fresh  from  her  morn- 
ing's duties  in  full  air,  and  her  tawny  locks  shaken 
about  in  dishevelled  luxuriance. 

"  Not  you,"  said  Mr.  Waddy,  shrinking  a  little 
from  her  lioness  aspect.  "  I  want  the  other.  She 
had  a  tarpaulin  and  yellow  canvas  clothes  the  first 
time,  and  then  I  saw  her  again  here — I  am  sure  it 
was  here.     Here !    Where  am  I  ?  " 

He  stopped  and  looked  about  him  wildly. 

"  Why,  you're  in  my  house,"  responded  Mrs, 
Dempster  soothingly,  "  an'  I  hope  you'll  make 
yerself  to  hum.  You've  been  drownded  an'  that 
was  Miss  Sullivan  that  found  you.  Ef  she  hadn't 
been  kind  er  cur'us  about  goin'  out  to  see 
how  a  storm  feels,  massy  knows  where  you'd  be 
now." 

50 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  51 

"  Miss  Sullivan  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Waddy.  "  There 
is  no  one  of  that  name  who  would  take  any  trouble 
for  me." 

"  She  did  take  a  sight  er  trouble,  though," 
said  the  old  lady,  "  an'  some  folks  'd  be  more  thank- 
ful for  't  than  you  seem  to  be.  'Taint  every  city 
lady  that  '11  go  wadin'  'round  an'  resk  drownin' 
herself  to  haul  out  a  man.  Some  of  them  other 
gals  would  'a'  sat  down  an'  screamed." 

"  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Waddy,  with  weak  testi- 
ness,  "  I  am  not  acquainted  with  Miss  Sullivan  and 
did  not  ask  her  to  save  me." 

"Wal,  now!"  said  Mrs.  Dempster  to  herself. 
"  Sakes  alive !  What  an  ongrateful  critter !  I  can't 
stan'  it ;  but  I  s'pose  he's  sick  and  onreasonible." 

So  saying  she  marched  out,  and  clattering  pans 
soon  banged  a  warlike  accompaniment  to  her  mur- 
mured wrath. 

Miranda  remained,  and  Mr.  Waddy  turned  to 
her  in  a  despairing  search  for  information. 

"  You  are  sure  that  person  in  the  tarpaulin  was 
Miss  Sullivan?  "  he  questioned.  "  Sullivan,  I  think 
you  said?  " 

Miranda  nodded. 

"  Quite  certain,"  she  assured  him. 

"  Then,"  murmured  Waddy,  "  I've  seen  a  ghost. 
I'm  insane.  I  always  wished  to  know  what  the  feel- 
ing was.  Now  I  have  it.  Bring  a  strait- jacket, 
quick !    I'm  dangerous !     Hold  me !  " 


52  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

And  he  sank  back,  looking  excessively  feeble  and 
quite  manageable. 

Presently  he  seemed  to  revive  a  little. 

"  Miss  Miranda,"  he  continued,  "  how  do  you 
suppose  I  know  your  name?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  heard  mother  call  me,"  she  sug- 
gested. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  heard  it  in  a  dream,  an  ex- 
quisite dream,  such  as  may  come  to  us  insane  men  to 
compensate  us  for  losing  our  wakeful  wits.  My 
dream  was  this :  I  thought  that  I  was  lying  power- 
less in  the  dominion  of  a  wonderful  delight — a  de- 
light not  strange,  but  seemingly  familiar  as  a  ful- 
filled prophecy,  whose  fulfilment  had  been  forever 
a  lingering  certainty.  I  was  lying,  trammelled  by  a 
willing  motionlessness,  in  the  loveliest  glade  of  a 
wood  fresh  as  Paradise.  And  then  my  trance,  so 
content  with  its  own  happiness,  was  visited  with  hap- 
piness inexpressibly  greater.  It  seemed  that  a  face, 
well  known,  as  to  dreams  of  infancy  a  mother's 
sweet  watchfulness  may  be, — that  such  a  face,  per- 
haps my  own  lifelong  dream  of  pureness  personi- 
fied, bent  over  me  and  seemed  searching  through  my 
closed  eyes,  into  my  very  soul,  for  the  imperishable 
legends  of  my  better  life,  written  there  beneath  my 
earliest  and  holiest  vows.  I  heard  a  voice,  such  as 
I  may  have  dreamed  the  voice  of  an  angel,  and  it 
said,  '  Beautiful  world  of  God!  Why  are  we  not 
happy?'     Then  all  the  vision  faded  into  dimness 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  53 

and  someone  like  you,  you  in  fact,  came  bet-ween  me 
and  the  angel,  and  the  voice  called  you  by  your 
name,  *  Miranda/  " 

"  It  is  a  very  pretty  dream,"  said  Miranda,  as  he 
stopped,  visibly  exhausted,  "and  truer  than  most 
dreams.  When  we  were  bringing  you  up  from  the 
beach,  we  rested  several  times  in  the  wood,  and  Miss 
Sullivan,  who  seems  to  me  like  an  angel,  stooped 
over  you  to  see  whether  you  were  reviving  at  all. 
I  remember,  too,  that  she  said  something  like  what 
you  heard." 

"Miss  Sullivan,"  repeated  Mr.  Waddy,  rather 
crossly;  "a  very  respectable  young  woman,  I've 
no  doubt.  But  I  don't  know  her — well,  I  must  have 
been  in  a  trance  and  seen  old  visions." 

He  remained  silent  for  some  time,  buried  in 
thought — not  pleasant  thought,  to  judge  by  his 
countenance. 

"  Princess  Miranda,"  he  resumed,  at  last,  "  what 
may  be  the  name  of  your  realm  ?  Where  am  I  ?  Is 
Duke  Prospero  without?  " 

"  You're  in  father's  house  on  The  Island  in 
Maine,"  answered  Miranda  simply.  "  There's 
father,  now,  just  come  back  from  taking  Miss  Sul- 
livan to  Loggerly." 

"  So  she's  gone  without  stopping  to  see  whether 
I  lived  or  died!  "  muttered  Mr.  Waddy.  "  I'm  glad 
of  it.  Infernal  bore !  to  have  to  thank  her  and  pay 
compliments    to    some    namby-pamby    plough-girl. 


54  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Let's  see  what  I  can  give  her — a  six-inch  cameo — 
a  copy  of  Tennyson's  poems — an  annuity  of  ten 
bushels  of  tracts?  She  won't  like  money — I  know 
these  Yankee  girls.  This  Miranda  is  another  style. 
By  curry!"  asseverated  he  rapturously,  "  she  is  as 
grand  as  a  lioness.  Singularly  like  Hawkins's  part- 
ner in  the  schooner.  Ah,  those  poor  fellows !  Not 
one  of  them  left,  I'm  afraid." 

His  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  entry  of  old 
Dempster,  accompanied  by  his  wife  and  Dan'l. 

"  Wal,  sir,"  began  the  former,  with  brisk  hearti- 
ness, "  I'm  glad  to  see  you  doin'  better.  Here's 
some  money  we  found  in  your  belt — three  hundred 
an'  fifty  dollars.     Count  it,  if  you  please." 

"  Never  mind  the  money,"  said  Waddy.  "  I 
would  give  that  and  much  more  to  have  news  of  the 
vessel  I  was  wrecked  in.  Have  you  heard  anything 
about  her?  She  was  a  Down  East  schooner  named 
the  Billy  Blue  Nose/' 

"  What  might  the  name  of  her  owner  be?  "  asked 
Mr.  Dempster.  "  One  of  my  boys  has  been  buyin'  a 
schooner  up  to  Halifax." 

"  Hawkins  was  the  name ;  but  he  had  a  partner, 
a  very  fine  young  fellow,  who  told  me  he  lived  on 
this  coast.  He  lashed  me  to  the  spar  and  stayed  by 
me  till  she  struck.  His  name  was  Dempster — Wil- 
liam Dempster." 

"  Mother,"  said  the  old  man,  very  solemnly,  after 
a  moment,  "  it's  our  boy  Willum.    He  is  lost," 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  55 

For  another  moment  they  were  silent,  as  men  are 
when  fatal  words  have  been  spoken ;  then  the  wom- 
en's sobs  burst  forth. 

"  There's  no  time  to  cry — not  fer  us  men,  at 
least,"  added  the  father.  "  I've  said  my  prayers, 
mother,  an'  you  kin  pray  while  we're  gone.  Dan'l, 
you  go  down  to  Brother  Jake's  an'  tell  him  it  was 
Willum's  schooner  that  this  man  was  in.  He'd  bet- 
ter take  the  boys  an'  go  along  the  rocks  west  o'  the 
beach.  You  come  after  me  down  to  our  P'int — no — 
you  go  with  Brother  Jake — I  want  t'  be  alone." 

He  walked  away  heavily,  as  one  carrying  a  great 
burden.  He  could  have  no  hope,  but  that  worst  as- 
surance of  death — the  sight  of  death,  of  his  son 
lying  crushed  and  drowned  on  the  rocks. 

Mrs.  Dempster  went  to  the  bed  and,  stooping  over, 
kissed  Mr.  Waddy  softly.  The  poor  fellow,  weak- 
ened by  his  hurts,  struck  to  the  heart  by  the  sorrow 
he  had  brought  to  this  family,  burst  into  tears.  And 
to  mother  and  sister,  also,  came  the  agonising  relief 
of  bitter  tears. 

Mr.  Waddy  was  left  alone  and,  overwearied,  he 
slept.  And  while  he  slept,  life  was  busy  with  his 
frame,  renewing  it  again,  rebuilding  all  its  shrines 
of  saintly  images,  and  all  its  cells  where  lonely 
thoughts  dwelt  sadly.  When  he  awakes,  his  man- 
fulness  will  avail  that  he  may  again  take  up  the 
old  burdens,  which  he  had,  in  his  dream,  laid 
down. 


56  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

All  that  day  the  father  searched  along  the  shore, 
seeking  what  he  feared  to  find.  He  did  not  speak, 
but  all  the  while  his  heart  was  calling  upon  one 
name ;  and  there  was  no  reply.  He  wandered  along 
the  jagged  rocks  of  the  harsh,  iron  coast,  little  coves 
and  clefts  interrupting  his  progress.  Into  every  one 
of  these  he  must  peer  shrinkingly,  seeing  in  each, 
in  a  hasty  vision  of  the  mind,  a  form  he  knew, 
caught  in  the  sheltered  shallows  and  swaying  heavily 
as  the  tide  poured  in  over  dyke  of  rock  or  strip  of 
shining  sand.  He  swung  himself  from  crag  to 
dangerous  crag,  recklessly — yet  not  recklessly,  even 
in  spots  of  desperate  peril,  but  saving  strength  and 
untremulous  vigour  of  hand  and  limb;  for  at  any 
moment  there  might  be  for  him  a  burden  to  bear, 
tenderly,  lovingly,  bitterly. 

At  times  he  would  pause  and  look  long  and  ear- 
nestly out  upon  the  sea.  The  glitter  of  summer  sun- 
shine overspread  its  surface.  Multitudes  of  bril- 
liant sails,  crowded  by  distance,  came  and  went,  and 
as  they  passed,  he  might  imagine  the  cheery  hail  of 
whence  and  whither,  and  the  wish  from  each  to  each 
of  fortunate  voyage.  But  his  look  did  not  rest  on 
them;  he  was  studying  each  hither  surge,  as  it 
mounted  and  sank  away — looking  for  something 
that  was  never  heaved  up  by  any  sunlit  billow, 
and  that  to  see  among  the  quick  swoopings  of  sea- 
gulls would  have  been  to  him  a  horror  and  a  shud- 
dering despair. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  57 

Father  and  brother  and  kinsmen  sought  the  lost 
in  vain;  while  in  vain  the  mother  and  the  sister 
prayed  as  they  waited  tearfully.  But  there  was  no 
answer  to  their  prayers,  save  that  universal  cruel 
one,  "  Be  patient!    Yes,  be  patient!  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MR.    WADDY    MUSES    UPON    FATE    AND    UNDERTAKES 
A   COMMISSION 

THE  family  were  all  tenderly  kind  to  Mr. 
Waddy,  but  he  needed  only  repose.  It  was 
very  sad  within  the  house  next  day.  Mrs.  Demp- 
ster and  Miranda  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  talk 
with  their  patient,  but  his  connection  with  the  wreck 
was  too  close  and  too  saddening.  He  brought  their 
loss  too  clearly  before  them.  They  took  refuge, 
cheerlessly,  in  household  duties. 

As  the  day  advanced,  Mr.  Waddy  was  able  to 
move  about,  and  finally,  dressed  in  DanTs  clothes, 
to  walk  slowly  with  many  halts  down  towards  the 
rocks.  Here  he  could  sit  with  the  breeze  fresh  upon 
him  and  basking  in  the  bright  sun.  It  was  a  very 
different  heat  to  that  dull,  blasting  one  which  had 
for  years  been  trying  to  bake  out  all  the  lively  juices 
of  his  system. 

Cheroots  were  Mr.  Waddy's  favourite  smoking. 
Of  course  he  had  none  at  present,  after  his  wreck. 
Was  it  for  the  want  of  these  that,  even  through  his 
feebleness  of  a  half-drowned  man,  his  old  impa- 
tience began  to  manifest  itself?     He  had  fancied, 

58 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  59 

perhaps,  that  years  of  absence  would  have  changed 
him  from  the  hot,  ardent,  passionate,  confident,  and 
confiding  youth  of  three  lustra  before.  Were  not 
fifteen  years  enough  to  stoicise  and  epicureanise  him  ? 
Could  he  not  keep  cool  and  take  his  luxurious  op- 
portunities of  a  wealthy  idler  with  passive  content? 
Why  must  the  native  air  awaken  again  the  old 
thoughts  and  the  old  forgotten  hopes?  Forgotten! 
Ah,  Mr.  Waddy!  hopes  touched  with  disappoint- 
ment may  blacken  into  despairs,  and  pass  into  the 
background  of  shadow,  away  from  foregrounds  of 
sunshine  in  the  heart,  but  there  they  must  abide  un- 
fading. 

Mr.  Waddy,  sitting  by  the  seaside  on  The  Island, 
was  not  merely  impatient — an  invalid  may  naturally 
be  so  when  convalescence  has  made  farther  advance 
with  his  mind  than  his  body — he  was  also  very  sad. 
He  could  not  avoid  connecting  himself  with  the  ter- 
rible disaster  which  had  marked  his  coming. 

"  Just  my  luck !  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  Why  must 
I  come  home  without  any  object?  As  soon  as  I  ar- 
rive on  this  wretched  continent,  my  passing  at  a 
hundred  yards  is  enough  to  knock  one  boy  into  the 
water.  Then  I  get  myself  left  by  the  steamer,  and  to 
shorten  my  delay,  I  take  the  Billy  Blue  Nose  and  I 
become  its  Jonah.  My  vessel  goes  to  wreck ;  my  men 
are  drowned :  I  am  put  under  obligations  to  some  ro- 
mantic old  maid,  and  then  I  have  to  make  a  whole 
family    miserable    with    fatal    news.     And    I    am 


60  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

saved — for  some  good  purpose  I  am  willing  to  be- 
lieve. But  for  what  ?  Have  I  any  duties  besides  to 
be  a  jolly  bachelor  and  tell  a  boy  or  two,  like  that 
young  Dunstan  and  his  friend,  how  to  behave?  I 
believe  I  have  not  a  relative  in  the  world — save  pos- 
sibly that  Mr.  Waddie  of  New  York — descendant, 
perhaps,  of  my  Tory  ancestor — who  wrote  me  from 
Paris.  It  is  rather  pleasant  to  think  of  one  relative, 
and  then  Dunstan  told  me  that  the  old  boy  had  an 
only  child,  a  lovely  daughter.  Possibly  she  may  be 
a  cousin  within  the  kissing  removes.  Ah,  pleasanter 
still!" 

Mr.  Waddy  was  growing  steadily  more  cheerful ; 
then  he  fell  a  long  time  drowsily  silent — dreaming 
undefined  dreams — gazing  out  across  the  sea  to  the 
horizon,  where  wavering  warmth  of  air  mingled 
with  quivering  waves.  But  at  last  a  chill  in  the  air 
reminded  him  that  he  was  still  an  invalid,  and  that 
evening  was  at  hand. 

"  I  must  go  in,"  he  said,  "  and  get  ready  for  my 
start  to-morrow.  Dan'l  must  be  persuaded  to  cede 
his  clothes  to  me." 

He  went  slowly  back  along  the  bushy  path,  paus- 
ing now  and  then  to  pluck  a  raspberry,  until  he  came 
to  the  kitchen.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  went 
in.  Everything  was  as  before — the  old  clock  tick- 
ing hours  of  a  bitter  day  just  as  regularly  to  their 
end  as  it  had  marked  hours  of  happy  holidays,  or 
of  careful  common  days;  the  kettle  of  dried  apples 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  61 

sputtering*  on  the  stove ;  the  hot  loaf  ready  for  sup- 
per; Dan'l  depositing  the  evening's  milk  on  the 
dresser.  But  by  the  stove  sat  old  Dempster,  now 
doubly  aged,  stooping  forward,  his  face  covered 
with  both  his  hands.  Waddy  hesitated  about  in- 
truding his  questions  of  business  into  the  old  man's 
grief.  However,  he  looked  up  more  cheerily  than 
Ira  expected,  and  giving  him  a  broad  gripe  of  the 
hand,  asked  of  his  health  very  cordially. 

"  I  am  so  well,"  said  Mr.  Waddy,  "  that  I  hope 
to  save  you  the  trouble  of  keeping  me  longer  than 
to-night." 

"  Make  yourself  to  home,"  said  Dempster. 
"  You're  welcome  to  stay  as  long  as  you  like. 
'Tain't  in  one  day  a  man  gits  over  bein'  wrecked. 
Besides,  I  kind  er  like  to  have  someone  'round;  it 
keeps  the  women  folks  from  thinkin'  of  their 
troubles.  But  if  you'd  oughter  go,  Jake  '11  drive 
you  over  to-morrow,  over  to  Loggerly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ira,  "  I  think  I  must  go.  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you  in  Portland  or  Boston?  " 

"  Wal,  I  guess  I'll  ask  one  thing;  'tain't  much,  an' 
you  said  my  boy  looked  arter  you  a  little,  'fore  the 
schooner  struck.  There's  a  spot  down  on  the  shel- 
tered side  of  Black  Rock  Head,  jest  to  the  end  o' 
my  meader,  where  I  allers  calkerlated  to  be  buried, 
some  day  or  other,  along  with  the  old  woman.  I 
can't  find  my  boy  to  bury  him  there,"  he  added 
simply,    "  but   I'd   like  to   put   up   somethin'  of  a 


62  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

moniment  t'  make  us  think  of  him.  These  grave- 
stone pedlars  don't  come  very  often  to  The  Island ; 
they  tried  it  fer  several  years,  but  folks  seemed  t' 
give  up  dyin'  and  they  didn't  git  no  orders.  Wal, 
I  wish  when  you  git  to  Boston,  you'd  look  'round  an' 
buy  me  a  handsome  pair  o'  stones,  a  big  one  with  a 
round  top  fer  the  head,  an'  a  small  one  fer  the  feet, 
an'  have  Willum's  name  an'  age  put  on — I'll  write 
it  down  an'  Mirandy  '11  look  up  a  text.  Have  'em 
leave  room  enough  below  Willum's  for  another 
name.  When  dyin'  once  gits  into  a  family,  there's 
no  knowing  where  it  '11  stop.  I  feel  as  if  there' d  be 
some  more  on  us  goin'  afore  long.  They  kin  ship 
the  stones  in  some  of  these  coasters  an'  I'll  pay  fer 
'em  down  to  the  custom  house.  'Tain't  askin'  too 
much,  I  hope,  mister?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Ira,  much  affected  and  re- 
solving that  there  should  be  no  bill  at  the  custom 
house.    "  I'll  see  that  it  is  done  just  as  you  wish." 

"  Thanky  kindly,"  said  the  old  man.  "  When  the 
stones  come  along,  I'll  set  'em  under  the  cedars. 
It  '11  do  mother  an'  me  a  sight  o'  good  to  see  'em  an' 
kind  er  make  our  boy  seem  near." 

"  There's  one  thing  I  wish  to  speak  to  you 
about,"  said  Mr.  Waddy,  after  a  considerable  si- 
lence. "  This  Miss  Sullivan — I  have  money  enough 
and  to  spare.  Do  you  know  of  anything  I  could  do 
for  her?  " 

The  question   was   put   rather  awkwardly;   Mr. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  63 

Waddy  knew  as  well  as  anyone  that  money  is  not  the 
current  coin  to  repay  an  act  of  devotion. 

"  Wal,"  said  Dempster,  seeing  the  good  feeling 
that  suggested  and  checked  the  inquiry,  "  I  don't 
believe  she  wants  fer  money.  She  offered  me  a 
thousand  dollars  fer  our  P'int.  I  told  her  perhaps 
I'd  sell  out  the  whole  farm  for  two  thousand.  I've 
been  talkin'  some,  along  back,  with  Willum,  of  goin' 
out  west  an'  settlin'  by  some  o'  them  big  lakes. 
When  folks  has  been  used  to  water,  they  don't  like 
to  live  away  from  it.  Willum's  gone,  but  Dan'l's  a 
handy  boy,  an'  Mirandy's  as  good  as  a  whole 
drawin'  of  some  men.  I  guess  we'll  go.  It  don't 
look  quite  so  bright  'round  here  as  it  did,"  and  he 
passed  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  If  Miss  Sullivan  doesn't  buy  it,  I  will,"  said  Ira 
quickly.  "  Can  you  tell  me  where  she  is  to  be 
found,  so  that  I  can  have  inquiry  made  what  her 
decision  is?  This  is  just  the  spot  I  should  like  to 
buy — it  is  a  good  lonely  place,  where  I  can  escape 
from  my  friends, — if  I  ever  make  any,"  he  added, 
in  a  half-voice  and  rather  bitterly. 

"  She  came  with  a  grist  o'  folks  from  York,"  said 
Dempster ;  "  pretty  good  folks,  but  different  kind  to 
her.  Mirandy  had  their  names  on  a  paper,  but  it 
got  lost.  But  she  said  she'd  write  about  the  farm  an' 
I  kin  let  you  know.  Wal,  if  you  want  to  go  in  the 
mornin'  I  must  go  over  an'  tell  Jake.  I'll  be  gone 
to  the  other  field  when  you  start ;  so  good-bye." 


64  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

He  gave  Waddy  a  crushing  grasp  of  the  hand 
and  looked  at  him  wistfully,  as  if  he  were  recalling 
his  son  through  this  one  who  had  seen  him  last. 
Then,  feeling  that  tears — tears  of  that  better  man- 
hood which  men  call  unmanly — were  falling  over 
his  brown  cheeks,  now  hollow  with  fatigue  and 
sleepless  grief,  he  unclosed  his  hand  with  grave 
gentleness  and  walked  slowly  away. 

Looking  after  him,  something  brought  back  to 
Waddy's  mind  that  sentence  the  old  man  had  ut- 
tered a  little  while  before: 

"  When  dying  once  gets  into  a  family,  there's  no 
knowing  where  it  will  stop." 

He  felt  dimly  that  he  had  listened  to  a  prophecy. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    NABOB    RE-ENTERS    CIVILISATION 

IT  was  a  lovely  afternoon,  two  days  after  the 
events  narrated  in  the  last  chapter,  when  a  shabby 
stranger  might  have  been  seen  slowly  pacing  the 
pavement  that  leads  from  one  of  those  gates  where 
a  stream  of  ardent  pilgrims  disembogues  into  the 
purlieus  of  the  Athens  of  America;  pacing  with 
reverent  sloth  up  toward  the  Acropolis  where,  like 
fanes  of  gods  still  alive  and  kicking,  tower  the 
Boston  State  House,  the  Boston  Anthenseum,  and 
nobler  than  all,  behind  granite  propylsea,  the  Boston 
Tremont  House. 

I  said  a  shabby  stranger  might  have  been  seen; 
he  might,  had  anyone  looked.  But  no  one  looks  at 
shabby  strangers,  a  fact  for  which  this  one  was 
deeply  grateful,  for  his  name  was  Ira  Waddy,  and 
he  was  encased  in  a  suit  of  Dan'l's  clothes.  He  was 
still  gloomy  after  his  wreck,  indisposed  for  the  hos- 
pitalities of  his  commercial  correspondents,  not  un- 
willing to  visit  his  old  haunts,  himself  unknown. 

His  first  point  was  of  course  Dullish  Court,  his 
childhood's  home;  but  it  had  changed  beyond  his 
recognition.     Here,  in  place  of  the  little  shop,  were 

65 


66  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

the  great  Waddy  Buildings,  erected  by  his  order 
and  already  trebled  in  value.  The  income  of  this 
unmortgaged  property  was  of  itself  town  house, 
country  house,  horses,  dinners,  balls,  fashion  and 
respect,  the  kingdoms  of  this  world  and  another. 
Dullish  Court  had  enlarged  its  borders  for  better 
perspective  of  these  stupendous  granite  structures. 
Boston  thought  them  more  important  than  Mont 
Blanc,  the  Temple  of  Solomon,  Karnac,  or  the 
Coliseum,  and  ciceroned  the  unsuspecting  stranger 
thither. 

"  There,  sir;  what  do  you  think  of  that,  sir?  We 
are  plain,  sir ;  but  we  are  solid,  sir — solid,  sir,  as  the 
godlike  Daniel  said  of  us.  All  belong  to  one  man. 
Boston  boy,  sir — went  away  with  nothing;  now 
worth  millions !  "  and  the  liquid  l's  of  that  luxurious 
word  dwelt  upon  the  cicerone's  tongue  most 
Spanishly. 

Mr.  Waddy  looked  at  his  buildings  with  satis- 
faction. They  were  worth  looking  at.  In  them, 
everything  that  may  be  hoisted  was  hoisted;  what- 
ever may  be  stored  was  stored.  Any  man,  from  any 
continent  or  any  island,  would  find  there  his  coun- 
try's products. 

In  front  of  the  buildings  were  still  to  be  seen 
sights  familiar  to  Mr.  Waddy's  childhood,  in  other 
parts  of  the  city.  Here  were  girls  pulling  furtive 
pillage  from  the  cotton  bale;  others  making  free 
with  samples  of  everything  from  leaky  boxes ;  others 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  67 

sounding  molasses  barrels  with  a  pine  taster  and  fat- 
tening on  the  contents.  Mr.  Waddy  remembered 
his  own  childish  days  when  a  dripping  molasses  bar- 
rel was  to  him  riches  beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice ; 
his  days  of  growth,  when  as  clerk,  he  became  himself 
a  Cerberus  of  barrels;  his  days  of  higher  dignity 
when,  Ira  still,  he,  from  his  tall  stool,  was  short  with 
suppliants ;  and  one  more  period  of  promotion  when 
the  inner  counting-house  acknowledged  his  services 
essential,  and  when  Horace  Belden,  the  ornamental 
junior  partner,  became  his  constant  companion  and 
most  intimate  friend,  trusted  with  unnumbered  con- 
fidences by  the  true  and  trustful  Waddy.  After 
that,  came  India  and  exile. 

The  shabby  stranger  moved  on  at  last,  rather  con- 
tent with  his  granite  block,  but  regretting  the  old 
shop  of  his  humbler  days.  The  city  was  wholly 
changed.  He  recognised  no  building  anywhere,  but 
a  vista  of  green  trees  appearing  up  a  narrow  street, 
he  made  for  this.  He  came  out  upon  the  Common, 
and  a  very  pretty  place  he  found  it,  warm  with  rich 
shadows  and  all  Deflowered  with  gay  little  children. 
Fifteen  years  before,  Mr.  Waddy  had  sometimes 
done  what  may  still,  perhaps,  be  done  by  Boston 
swains  and  maids.  He  remembered  circuits  of  the 
Common,  transits  of  the  Common,  lingerings  in  the 
Common,  by  bright  sunsets  of  summer,  in  electric 
evenings  of  frosty  winters,  when  Boston  eyes  grow 
to  keener  sparkles,  and  Boston  cheeks  gain  ruddy 


68  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

bloom ;  walks  twilighted,  moonlighted,  starlighted— 
lighted  beautifully  with  all-beaming  lights  of  na- 
ture and  youth  and  hope. 

As  Mr.  Waddy,  forgetting  dinner,  was  gazing 
charmedly  across  the  green  slopes  of  this  rus-in- 
urbal  scene,  remembering — pleasantly,  doubtless, 
though  his  face  did  not  look  pleasant — his  youthful 
strolls  there-along,  he  saw  sitting  near  one  of  the 
gates  a  miserable  crouching  figure,  almost  rolled 
into  a  ball.  By  its  side  was  a  box  of  withered  cigars, 
and  a  placard,  "  Please  buy  something  of  this  China- 
man." As  Mr.  Waddy  looked  abstractedly  at  him, 
quite  certain  not  to  buy,  he  saw  a  man  of  dark  com- 
plexion approach  the  cringing  figure,  stare  at  him 
for  a  moment,  jerk  him  violently  by  the  tail,  and 
then,  with  howls  of  joy  chiming  in  melodiously  with 
the  other's  howls  of  anguish,  fall  to  embracing  him 
ecstatically. 

Mr.  Waddy  was  much  amused  to  recognise  his 
servant  Chin  Chin  in  the  embracer. 

"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  with  that  chap?  " 
he  demanded,  walking  up  and  employing  the  toe  of 
one  of  DanTs  boots  gently  to  interfere  with  this 
affecting  scene. 

"  Hi  yah !  All  same !  Boston  fashion !  "  shouted 
the  delighted  Chin  Chin,  recognising  his  master  in 
spite  of  his  disguise.  "  S'pose  'em  drown.  No !  All 
same.  Dis  my  cussem — murder's  brudder's  sum. 
Hi  yah ! "  and  he  gave  the  cigar  merchant  another 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  69 

tug  of  the  cue,  another  embrace,  and  a  quantity  of 
guttural  gibberish.  After  this  spasm  of  kinsmanly 
regard,  he  explained  to  Mr.  Waddy  that  Dunstan 
had  taken  care  of  his  effects  and  deposited  them  with 
a  letter  at  the  Tremont  House,  intrusting  also  him, 
Chin  Chin,  to  the  landlord's  care. 

Chin  Chin,  dressed  in  his  neat  uniform — Mr. 
Waddy  would  not  call  it  a  livery — seemed  a  Ne- 
paulese  ambassador,  some  Bung  Jackadawr,  on  a 
visit  of  state,  and  Mr.  Waddy  his  rough  interpreter 
on  savage  shores.  Some  drygoods  buyers  at  the 
Tremont  House  door  were  disposed  to  grin  as  the 
apparent  Down  East  Yankee  came  up  the  steps,  and 
to  hee-haw  when  the  landlord,  recognising  Chin 
Chin  and  the  signature,  asked  the  signer  if  he  would 
like  a  private  parlour.  They  grinned  and  hee-hawed 
no  more  when  they  caught  sight  of  that  name  of 
power. 

Meantime,  Ira  had  been  provided  with  his  apart- 
ment. Chin  Chin  had  arrayed  him  in  a  summer 
costume,  easy  and  elegant,  and  he  was  dining  vigor- 
ously, rejoiced  to  have  someone  near  him  again  on 
whom  his  impatient  oaths  in  Loo  Choo  and  kindred 
dialects  were  not  thrown  away. 

Of  a  large  number  of  letters,  he  first  opened  Dun- 
stan's.  It  was  brief,  merely  informing  him  what 
had  been  done  with  the.  luggage.  Mr.  Waddy 
paused,  however,  over  the  closing  sentences: 

"  I  have  a  short  hiatus  in  my  life  before  the  po- 


yo  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

litical  campaign  fairly  commences,  and  shall  yawn 
through  it  at  Newport  with  Paulding.  Why  won't 
you  drop  in  and  see  something  of  our  world  after 
your  long  absence  ?  You  will  be  amused  and  per- 
haps instructed  in  the  new  social  discoveries.  Your 
relatives,  the  Waddies,  have  a  house  there,  a  capi- 
tal lounging  place,  and  are  expected  back  from  Eu- 
rope soon  to  occupy  it. 

"We  made  little  Budlong  rather  unhappy  for 
leaving  you.  Chin  Chin  shut  off  his  cheroots.  Miss 
Arabella  wouldn't  forgive  him  for  abandoning  '  that 
charming  Mr.  Waddy.'  However,  she  consoled  her- 
self with  Miromenil,  that  sprig  of  the  haute  no- 
blesse.   You  will  find  them  all  at  Newport." 

"  Fine  lad,  Dunstan,"  said  Waddy,  "  but  some- 
what melancholy — probably  spent  too  much  money 
in  Europe.  Perhaps  he's  lost  his  heart  to  Miss 
Waddie;  but  he  didn't  talk  like  a  disappointed  lover; 
only  sad,  not  bitter.  Well,  when  I've  finished  my 
business  here  and  Granby  comes,  I  may  as  well  begin 
my  home  experience  with  Newport — as  well  there 
as  anywhere." 

When  the  cobbler,  being  shaken,  responded  with 
only  a  death-rattle  of  dry  ice,  Mr.  Waddy  lighted 
his  cheroot  and  strolled  into  the  Common.  It  was 
loveliest  moonlight.  He  sat  on  a  bench  reclined 
against  an  elm.  The  policeman  coming  by,  stopped, 
willing  to  chat  of  crime.  It  was  too  pure  a  night 
for  any  thought  save  reveries  of  pensive  peace;  so 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  71 

Waddy  gagged  him  with  a  cigar.  An  hour  after- 
ward, at  midnight,  the  same,  re-passing,  found  the 
smoker  still  posted  on  his  bench. 

So  for  hours  of  that  delicious  night  of  summer 
he  sat  beneath  the  flickering  elm  shadows.  Sweet 
breezes  from  overland,  where  roses  were,  came  and 
played  among  the  branches.  There  was  no  sorrow 
nor  sighing  in  the  voices  of  this  summer  wind — only 
love,  love !  Did  Mr.  Waddy  hear  them  ?  Had  some 
hopeful  Cupid  peered  into  his  face,  he  would  have 
fled  affrighted  at  its  stern  misery. 

Across  the  ripples  and  beyond  the  silver  islands  of 
the  bay,  at  Nahant,  where  one  of  the  first  hops  of  the 
season  was  now  careering,  the  Wilkes  party  were 
spending  a  day  or  two.  They  were  all  hopping  mer- 
rily to-night,  Gyas  the  brave  and  the  brave  Cloan- 
thus  alternating  with  Miss  Julia.  Miss  Milly  Center 
had  also  been  brought  down  to  join  the  Wilkeses,  by 
her  Boston  friends ;  and  Mr.  Billy  Dulger,  moth  to 
her  flame,  had  followed,  disregarding  the  claims  of 
his  papa's  counting-house  in  New  York.  They  all 
danced  and  flirted  and  were  well  pleased,  though 
not  very  susceptible  truly  to  the  exalting  influences 
of  the  moonlit  sea. 

Miss  Sullivan's  dancing  days  were  over,  except 
when  she  was  kind  enough  to  practice  with  a 
debutante,  or  teach  some  awkward  youth  the  graces 
in  a  turn  or  two.  The  music,  however,  was  fine,  and 
the  girls,  at  first,  fresh  and  not  all  crumpled.     So 


72  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

she,  too,  was  pleased  with  the  pretty  sight.  But  it 
grew  no  prettier,  and  presently  she  walked  away 
from  the  hotel  out  upon  the  rocks.  The  music 
mingled  softly  with  the  plashing  sea.  The  fall  of 
waves  was  like  the  trembling  of  many  leaves ;  each 
dot  of  water  on  the  dark  rocks  was  a  diamond,  filled 
with  a  diminished  moon.  Here,  too,  was  the  breeze 
that  told  of  love;  the  lulling  beat  of  waves  said 
softly  love,  and  the  great,  dreamy,  mysterious  sea, 
over  all  its  brilliant  and  shimmering  calm,  seemed 
permeated  by  an  infinite  spirit  of  eternal  love. 
Looking  out  upon  it,  Miss  Sullivan's  face  softened 
and  saddened,  and  her  eyes  filled  again  with  tears. 

About  this  time,  Mr.  Waddy,  on  his  bench  in 
Boston  Common,  feeling  that  the  end  of  his  third 
cheroot  was  about  to  frizzle  the  tips  of  his  mous- 
tache, was  taking  a  last,  long  puff,  when  a  mosquito, 
suddenly  sailing  in,  nipped  his  nose.  The  sufferer 
immediately  discovered  that  his  life  was  a  burden. 
'He  threw  away  his  stump  with  great  violence, 
walked  back  to  his  hotel,  and  laid  down  his  burden 
under  a  mosquito-bar. 


CHAPTER  X 

OUR    HERO    RENEWS    HIS    YOUTH    IN    THE    WARMTH 
OF  AN   OLD   FRIENDSHIP 

A  S  Mr.  Waddy  was  glancing  over  his  paper  at 
iJL  breakfast  next  morning,  he  caught  sight  of  a 
name  once  familiar. 

"  Perhaps  I  did  wrong,"  thought  he,  not  for  the 
first  time,  "  to  close  all  intercourse  with  people  here 
when  I  went  away.  '  Perkins  &  Tootler  '  advertis- 
ing everywhere.  There  can't  be  two  men  named 
Tootler.  It  must  be  my  old  schoolfellow.  I'll  go 
down  and  see  if  he  remembers  me." 

Large  letters  in  the  directory  informed  him  of  the 
firm's  address — Perkins  &  Tootler,  wool  merchants, 
Throgmorton  Perkins,  Thomas  Tootler.  Ira  easily 
found  the  store.  Everything  looked  busy  and  pros- 
perous. The  air  around  was  filled  with  a  fine  floc- 
culent  haze  which  caused  Mr.  Waddy  to  rub  his  nose. 

"  Tommy  doesn't  need  to  advertise  that  he's  in 
wool,"  thought  he.    "  In  clover,  too,  I  should  think." 

All  within  the  store  of  P.  &  T.  was  bustle.  Wool- 
gathering there  meant  quite  the  opposite  of  witless- 
ness.  In  reply  to  Mr.  Waddy's  inquiry  for  Mr. 
Tootler,  a  busy  clerk  pointed  to  the  inner  office. 

13 


74  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

The  door  was  shut,  and  as  Mr.  Waddy  knocked, 
he  heard  a  queer,  suppressed  sound,  half  musical, 
half  melancholy,  like  the  wheeze  of  a  country  church 
organ  when  Bellows,  immersed  in  his  apple,  has 
forgotten  his  duty  of  blast. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  voice. 

As  Ira  entered,  the  person  within  was  engaged  in 
'hurrying  something  into  the  pocket  of  his  grey 
morning  coat.  The  person  was  a  short,  bald,  jolly 
fatling,  all  abloom  with  pink  freshness.  He  looked 
a  compound  of  pere  dc  famille  and  jolly  dog.  His 
abiding  rosiness  was  rosier  now  with  a  blush  as  of 
one  detected;  it  grew  ruddier  as  the  stranger  ad- 
dressed him. 

"Mr.  Tootler,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  will  you  take  a  seat?  "  returned  Tootler 
politely;  then,  as  he  saw  his  visitor  in  clearer  light, 
he  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  hands  outstretched.  "  Is 
it  possible  ?  Why,  Waddy,  is  it  you  ?  Folly  ol  tolly 
ol  tilly  ol  ta!"  and  he  grasped  Ira's  hands  and 
hopped  before  him  in  a  polka  step.  As  he  hopped, 
his  coat  flew  about  and  a  hard  object  in  the  pocket 
struck  Mr.  Waddy's  leg. 

"  Yes,  it's  I,  Tommy,  my  boy,"  said  Waddy,  al- 
most ready  to  dance  himself  and  feeling,  suddenly, 
quite  a  boy  again.  "  I  would  bet  cash  that  I  can  tell 
what  you  have  in  your  right-hand  pocket." 

"  Well,  you're  right,"  admitted  Tootler,  smiling 
blandly;  and  diving  into  his  pocket,  he  produced  the 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  75 

joints  of  a  flute.  He  put  it  rapidly  together  and 
after  one  howl,  such  as  Ira  had  heard  from  without, 
he  played  in  a  masterly  way  a  few  bars  of  a  sweet 
Spanish  air. 

"  Our  last  serenade — eh,  Ira?  I  don't  forget,  you 
see." 

The  two  friends  shook  hands  again  on  this  sou- 
venir— but  more  gravely.  Mr.  Waddy's  face,  in- 
deed, was  again  very  grave. 

"  Fifteen  years  ago  this  very  month,"  continued 
Tootler,  a  little  rapidly,  perhaps  noticing  the  change. 
"  But,  Ira,  you've  not  altered  a  hair,  except  your 
moustache,  and  you're  as  brown  as  a  chowder  party. 
Splendid!  All  right!  Welcome  home!  as  the  boy 
said  to  the  bumble-bee.     If  I  could  see  your  lips,  I 

don't  know  but  I  would "     A  chirping  smack 

went  off  in  the  air,  and  Tommy,  the  gay,  spun  about 
his  office,  and  as  he  spun  he  flirted  no  less  than  three 
tears  to  lay  the  dust;  then,  giving  himself  a  little 
thwack  in  the  eyes,  he  fronted  Waddy  again. 

"  Well,  Tommy,"  said  his  friend,  "  you  are  the 
same — only  younger.  I  see  the  hair  hasn't  grown 
yet  on  your  infantile  poll." 

"  Never  will,  sir,"  replied  the  merry  man,  who 
had  plenty  of  pleasant  light  hair  below  his  tonsure ; 
"  never  would.  I'm  taken  for  a  priest,  a  nunshow. 
Sometimes  for  the  Pope.  Isn't  that  worth  being 
bald  for?  *  The  Pope  that  Pagan  full  of  pride  ' — ■ 
I'd  like  to  be  him  for  one  day  to  excommunicate  the 


76  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Irish  nation.  But  come !  tell  me  about  yourself.  I 
obeyed  orders  and  didn't  write.  I  heard,  of  course, 
through  your  house  here  that  you  were  alive  and 
making-  money,  but  nothing  more.  We've  talked 
very  often  of  you — Cissy  and  I." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Waddy,  "  of  course  there's  a  Cissy. 
No  man  ever  looked  so  young  and  happy  without." 

"  Of  course,"  assented  Tootler  positively, 
"  there's  more  than  one.  There's  Mrs.  Cecilia 
Tootler,  who  knows  you  very  well  by  hearsay,  and 
Miss  Cecilia  Tootler,  who  will  know  you  this  after- 
noon, if  my  brown  mare  Cecilia  doesn't  break  our 
necks." 

"Where  are  we  going  so  fast?"  asked  Waddy, 
"  with  these  gay  young  men  who  drive  brown 
mares?  " 

"  We  are  going  to  my  house  in  the  country,"  ex- 
plained Tootler.  "  We  are  going  to  drive  and  drive 
and  talk  over  old  times,  and  have  some  iced  punch 
after  the  old  fashion,  and  a  pipe  after  punch.  For 
your  part,  you  are  going  to  be  made  love  to  by  Mrs. 
Tootler;  she  shall  sing  to  you,  with  her  divinest 
voice,  everything  that  you  have  loved  in  old  times, 
and  a  thousand  new  things  that  you  will  love  when 
you  hear  them;  she  shall  play  to  you  on  the  dul- 
cinea,  sackbut,  psaltery,  spinnet,  harp,  lute,  and 
every  kind  of  instrument,  including  a  piano.  Her 
name  was  a  prophecy — there's  something  in  a  name. 
Now  yours — I  don't  believe  you  would  have  been 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  77 

bolting  off  to  India  as  you  did,  forgetting  all  your 
friends,  if  your  name  had  not  been  Ira." 

"  No  more  o'  that,  Tommy,"  protested  Ira,  "  now 
that  one  of  my  friends  has  proved  that  he  has  not 
forgotten  me.  But  tell  me,  is  it  usual  for  merchants 
of  Boston,  in  wool  or  out  of  it,  to  carry  pocket 
flutes  or  bassoons,  and  while  away  the  noontide  hour 
with  dulcet  strains,  such  as  you  gave  me  ?  Do  they 
all  play  solos  in  solitude?  " 

"  They  might  do  worse,  and  some  of  'em  do. 
The  fact  is,  Ira,  I  meet  such  a  set  of  inharmonious 
knaves  that  I  must  soothe  me  with  a  little  blow  now 
and  then.  I  have  had  the  doors  felted.  Not  much 
sound  goes  through.  Generally,  I  can  wait  till  I 
get  to  the  Shrine — so  I  call  my  box — St.  Cecilia's 
Shrine — for  my  music,  but  sometimes  these  con- 
founded beggars  rasp  me  so  with  their  mean  tricks 
and  tempting  swindles  that  I  have  to  pipe  up.  The 
clerks  wait  till  I've  done  and  then  ask  for  half-holi- 
days, I  have  to  deal  with  a  pretty  shabby  crew. 
These  manufacturers  are  always  hard  up  and  keep 
sending  a  lot  of  daggered  scallawags  here  to  get 
contributions  to  put  little  bills  through  Congress 
about  the  tariff.  They  don't  get  much  out  of 
Tommy  Tootler — nor  much  ahead  of  him — the 
loafers !  "  and  Tommy,  to  tranquillise  his  soul,  took 
his  flute  and  gave  "  II  segreto  "  with  thrilling  trills. 
As  he  closed,  a  small  knock  smote  the  door  and 
the  youngest  clerk,  aged  fifteen,   peered   in.     His 


78  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

pantaloons  were  hitched  up  by  his  hasty  descent  from 
a  high  stool. 

"  Mr.  Tootler,"  he  began  timidly,  but  gathering 
courage  at  every  word,  "  my  sisters  are  going  to 
have  a  raspberry  party  this  evening  and — and  my 
mother's  not  very  well.     Can  I  go  home  at  three?  " 

"  Go  along,  my  boy!  "  said  the  merchant,  "  and 
don't  take  too  many  raspberries  or  you  may  be 
more  ill  than  your  mother." 

Clerkling  disappeared  and  a  suppressed  cheer 
came  through  the  felted  door. 

Mr.  Waddy  laughed  heartily.  Tootler  also 
smiled  in  length  and  breadth ;  in  breadth  over  his 
rosy  cheeks  of  indigenous  cheerfulness,  and  in 
greater  length  from  where  his  chin  showed  the 
cloven  dimple  up  to  the  apex  of  his  tonsure.  It  was 
doing  Mr.  Waddy  vast  good — this  intercourse  with 
his  old  comrade.  It  seems  to  me  quite  possible  that 
if  he  had  found  his  friend  transmuted  from  the  old 
nimble  sixpence  to  a  slow  shilling — corrupted  into  a 
man  of  the  two-and-sixpenny  type,  slim,  prim,  close, 
pious  to  the  point  of  usury — that  the  returning  man 
would  have  been  disgusted  away  from  all  his  pos- 
sibilities of  content  and  hopes  of  home ;  would  have 
scampered  back  to  the  lounges  of  Europe  and  there 
withered  away.  Then,  certes,  never  would  this  tale 
of  his  Return  have  been  written. 

But  Mr.  Waddy  found  his  old  friend  now  even 
more  a  friend.     The  meeting  carried  each  back  to 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  79 

the  dear  days  of  youth,  jolly  and  joyous,  ardent, 
generous,  unsuspecting.  How  many  were  left  who 
could  call  either  by  prenomen?  These  were  two 
who,  together,  had  done  all  the  boyish  mischiefs — 
all  for  which  boyhood  is  walloped  and  riper  years 
remember  with  delight.  Had  they  not  together 
lugged  away  the  furtive  watermelon  ?  What  Boston 
bell-pulls  were  not  familiar  with  their  runaway 
rings?  Who,  as  time  went  on,  were  the  best 
skaters  but  they?  Who  went  farthest  for  water 
lilies  for  boyish  sweethearts ;  who,  into  stickiest 
mud  for  the  second  joints  of  that  amphibious  kan- 
garoo, the  frog?  To  enumerate  their  joint  ad- 
ventures and  triumphs  demands  a  folio.  Were  this 
written,  the  old  types  of  friendship  would  be  for- 
gotten, and  even  now,  as  I  think  of  Waddy  and 
Tootler,  those  other  duos  of  history,  Orestes  and 
Pythias,  Damon  and  Jonathan,  Pylades  and  David, 
mingle  themselves  like  uncoupled  hounds — their 
conjunctions  seem  only  casual  and  temporary. 

There  must  have  been  good  reason  for  their  re- 
ciprocal silence  during  so  many  years,  for  their 
meeting  was  not  as  of  two  who  have  wished  to  for- 
get each  other,  and  such  a  meeting,  with  so  un- 
changed a  comrade,  was,  as  I  have  said,  to  Mr. 
Waddy  a  wondrous  good.  It  seems  impossible  that 
a  man  of  his  many  noble  traits  should  not  have  had 
other  friends,  all  in  their  way  as  sincere  as  this 
one.     But  whether  this  prove  to  be  so  or  not,  here 


80  Mr.  Waddy's   Return 

we  have  the  first  fact  a  favourable  fact.  The  first 
hand  he  grasps  returns  the  pressure  warmly,  and  not 
with  traitorous  warmth.  The  first  face  he  recog- 
nises even  precedes  his  in  recognition.  Pleasant 
omens  these !  If  not  ominous,  pleasant  enough  as 
facts. 

The  two  friends  parted  for  their  morning  busi- 
ness. At  three,  to  a  tick,  Mr.  Tootler  was  at  the 
Tremont  House,  in  a  knowing  buggy  with  hickory 
wheels,  fresh-varnished.  Mr.  Waddy,  also  to  a 
tick,  ready  with  his  carpet-bag,  squinted  at  Cecilia 
and  saw  that  she  was  a  "  good  un."  Mr.  Tootler, 
with  his  tonsure  covered  by  a  straw  hat,  was  a  very 
young,  almost  boyish-looking  man,  as  vivacious  and 
sparkling  as  a  lively  boy.  Mr.  Waddy  was  browner 
and  graver,  and  his  long  moustache  gave  a  stern 
character  to  his  face,  even  when  he  smiled. 

Cecilia  lounged  along  over  the  stones  down  Bea- 
con Street,  with  that  easy  fling  which  reminds  one  of 
the  indolence  of  an  able  man.  The  air  was  cool  and 
fragrant,  and  parasol  clouds  hung  overhead,  sug- 
gesting future  need  of  umbrellas.  The  same  need 
was  foreshadowed  by  gleaming  fires  in  horizontal 
blackness — they  were  evidently  heating  up  those 
dark  reservoirs  that  later  a  diluvial  boiling-over 
might  come. 

Cecilia  probably  snuffed  the  approaching  shower, 
or  was  a  little  wild  with  thoughts  of  her  oats,  for 
while  Tootler  was  still  pointing  out  to  his  friend 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  81 

the  new  houses  of  new  men,  the  railroad  causeways 
and  the  extension  of  the  Common,  the  mare  was  im- 
perceptibly and  still  lazily  stretching  into  her  speed. 
She  was  not  one  of  those  great  awkward  brutes  that 
require  a  crowbar  between  the  teeth  and  a  capstan 
with  its  crew  at  either  rein.  This  refined,  ladylike 
animal  had  nothing  of  the  wrong-headed  vixen 
about  her.  Her  lively  ears  showed  caution  without 
timidity.  She  was  indeed  a  "  good  un,"  with  a  pedi- 
gree brought  down  by  the  Ark  from  Paradise. 

Mr.  Tootler  hardly  felt  the  reins,  the  mare  was 
minding  herself.  They  were  descending  an  easy 
slope,  when  a  man  driving  fast,  alone  in  a  buggy,  ap- 
peared over  the  opposite  rise  of  ground.  Just  as 
he  came  within  recognisable  distance,  he  struck  his 
horse  violently  with  the  whip ;  the  horse  winced  and 
bolted  and  then  turned  toward  his  own  side  a  little, 
but  not  enough  to  save  the  collision. 

"  We're  in,"  said  Tootler  calmly,  as  the  crash 
came. 

He  had  the  advantage  of  down-hill  impetus  and  a 
large  fore-wheel  of  the  new  style.  His  wheel  struck 
the  other's  hinder  wheel  just  in  front  of  the  box. 
It  swept  the  axle  and  both  wheels  clear.  Cecilia 
pulled  up  in  an  instant — no  damage.  They  left  her 
standing  and  both  sprang  to  the  rescue  of  the 
stranger.  He  had  been  thrown  out  behind  and  was 
picking  himself  up  from  a  spot  where  there  was 
just  mud  enough  for  general  defilement.    Ira  made 


82  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

after  the  horse,  who  only  ran  a  hundred  yards,  and 
brought  him  back  with  the  wreck  of  the  wagon  at 
his  heels.  Tootler  was  talking  rather  angrily  to 
the  stranger,  who  stood  sulkily  beating  off  the 
mud. 

"  Hang  it,  Belden,  you  know  it  was  your  own 
fault,"  said  Tommy.  "  Why  the  deuce  did  you  hit 
that  bolter  of  yours  just  at  the  wrong  time?  You 
might  have  broken  all  our  necks." 

"Well!"  said  Belden,  and  the  word  expressed 
many  things. 

He  was,  or  rather  had  been,  dressed  in  white, 
with  blue  cravat,  and  wore  a  straw  hat  covered  with 
fresh  white  muslin  in  the  Oriental  style.  He  was 
now  bedaubed  like  Salius  in  the  Virgilian  foot-race. 
It  was  quite  certain  that  his  afternoon  projects  were 
at  an  end.    He  was  an  "  object." 

"  After  all,"  continued  the  good-natured  Tootler, 
"  you  have  the  worst  of  it  and  I  won't  abuse  you. 
Here  comes  Waddy  with  your  horse— he  seems  all 
right.  Don't  you  remember  Waddy?  Ira,  this  is 
Horace  Belden.  He  used  to  be  one  of  us — old 
friends." 

Waddy  was  holding  the  horse  with  his  right 
hand ;  he  held  out  the  other  with  an  apology. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again  and  very  sorry  that 
we  were  the  unintentional  cause  of  your  accident," 
he  said. 

Belden  took  the  hand  with  a  bad  grace,  and  stoop- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  83 

ing  down  to  wipe  off  some  of  his  stains,  was  mut- 
tering something  that  may  have  been  a  reply,  when 
Cecilia  made  a  little  start.  Tootler  jumped  to  her 
head. 

"  Come,  Waddy,"  he  called ;  "  we  shall  be  caught 
in  the  shower.  Sorry  to  leave  you,  Belden,  but 
don't  see  that  we  can  do  anything.  A  little  rain- 
water won't  do  you  any  harm." 

Belden's  manner  was  so  very  ungracious  that 
Waddy's  cordiality,  if  he  felt  any,  was  repressed. 
It  was  a  case  for  indulgence,  however,  and  he  paused 
an  instant  as  he  was  mounting  into  the  buggy. 

"I'm  at  the  Tremont  House,  Mr.  Belden,"  he 
said,  "  and  shall  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Tremont  House — ah,"  replied  the  other. 
"  Hold  your  head  up,  you  damn  beast!  " 

As  the  pair  drove  off,  Belden  looked  after  them 
with  a  black  expression  and  a  curse. 

"  What  the  hell  has  that  damned  Waddy  come 
back  for?"  he  asked  of  the  ambient  air.  "He'd 
better  keep  away  from  me.  I  knew  him  as  soon  as 
I  saw  him  from  the  top  of  the  hill.  You  infernal 
brute,  why  didn't  you  go  by?  "  and  picking  up  his 
whip,  Mr.  Horace  Belden  beat  his  horse  villainously. 

Meantime  Cecilia  was  tossing  herself  gracefully 
along,  covering  ground  to  make  up  for  delay. 

"  Does  Belden  owe  you  any  money? "  asked 
Tommy.  "  I  thought  there  seemed  something  to 
pay  between  you." 


84  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

"  He  certainly  didn't  seem  inclined  to  pay  even 
common  civility,"  replied  Ira,  "  but  I  suppose  he  was 
savage  at  being  spilt.  It  was  rather  hard,  particu- 
larly with  that  gay  and  gorgeous  raiment.  He 
should  learn  how  to  drive." 

"  I  think  he  knew  us  and  meant  to  go  by  without 
notice,"  said  Tommy  shrewdly.  "Did  you  ever 
quarrel  with  him  before  you  went  away?  " 

"  Never  any  positive  quarrel.  I  had  begun  to  dis- 
trust him  somewhat ;  but  he  aided  me  so  readily  in 
my  efforts  to  be  off  that  I  forgot  my  doubts.  We 
parted  good  friends.     Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say, — something  in  his  look,  and 
manner  of  speaking  of  you,  as  of  course  we  did 
often.  I  noticed  the  same  look  to-day,  when  he 
used  the  whip,  and  when  you  came  back  with  the 
horse.  Depend  on  it,  he  wishes  you  no  good.  I 
don't  like  to  speak  ill  of  any  man,  but  I  believe  him 
to  be  a  scamp.  My  wife  would  never  know  him. 
I  ask  her  why,  and  she  says  she  has  an  instinctive 
aversion  to  him.  I  am  sure  she  has  had  some- 
thing to  verify  her  intuitions.  She  is  not  a  person 
for  idle  fancies,  except  in  my  personal  case,  and 
then  I  had  trouble  enough  to  change  fancy  into 
fact." 

"  What  has  Belden  been  doing  all  these  years  ?  " 
asked  Waddy.  "  The  only  time  I  ever  heard  of  him 
personally  was  a  year  or  so  after  I  went,  when  a 
youth  who  came  to  China  to  forget  some  jilting 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  85 

miss,  told  me  that  he  was  to  marry  a  lady  at  whose 
house  we  used  to  meet — you  know,"  and  he  turned 
away  so  that  his  companion  might  not  see  his 
face. 

"  There  was  nothing  in  that,"  said  Tommy. 
"  Soon  after  you  went,  he  ceased  to  be  received  there 
— reasons  unknown.  He  was  a  pretty  hard  cus- 
tomer then,  and  played  high.  Then  he  got  some  rep- 
utation of  a  certain  kind  in  an  amatory  way.  By- 
and-by  the  house  failed — total  smash — not  a  dollar 
to  be  found ;  still  his  connections  and  power  of  mak- 
ing himself  agreeable,  particularly  to  women  of  the 
class  who  haven't  intuitions,  or  don't  consult  them, 
kept  him  up.  He's  rather  accomplished — sings,  you 
know,  and  writes  what  half-educated  people  call 
clever  things." 

"  He  must  have  a  large  audience,"  observed  Ira,  a 
little-  bitterly,  even  for  him. 

"He  has,"  agreed  Tootler;  "among  knaves  as 
well  as  fools.  It's  my  belief  the  fellow  would  steal. 
In  fact,  where  he  got  his  money  to  go  and  live  in 
Europe,  as  he  did  for  several  years,  no  one  knows, 
unless  he  hid  it  from  the  firm's  creditors.  Then  he 
went  to  California  and  pretended  to  have  made  his 
fortune.  He  has  lately  been  to  Europe  again.  I 
believe  he  is  now  on  the  matrimonial  lay,  the  beg- 
gar !  But  you  don't  ask  me  about  the  other  friends 
with  whom  we  used  to  be  so  intimate." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Waddy,  with  the  tone  of  one 


86  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

definitely  putting  aside  the  subject.  "I  do  not. 
How  that  mare  of  yours  travels !  Can  you  put  me 
in  the  way  of  getting  a  horse?  " 

"  For  what  work  ?  My  next  neighbour  has  a 
five-year-old,  Cecilia's  half-brother,  for  sale.  He's 
a  beauty,  black  as  the  devil.  The  only  thing  against 
him  is,  he's  not  broke  to  harness.  They  ask  a  loud 
price,  too.    It  will  make  you  stare." 

"  Not  very  easy  to  make  me  stare/'  said  Waddy 
easily.  "  A  saddle  horse  is  just  my  affair.  We'll 
look  at  him  in  the  morning,  and  if  he  suits,  *  Ho  for 
cavaliers ! '  " 

During  all  this  talk,  Mr.  Waddy  had  not  failed  to 
observe  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  country  they  were 
whizzing  through.  There  is  nothing  so  charming, 
suburbanly,  as  the  region  about  Boston,  and  to  him 
all  was  garden,  for  these  were  spots  where  his  rosy- 
houred  youth  had  taken  its  truant  pleasures. 
Fifteen  years  had  built  fences  of  exclusion  round 
many  lovely  groves,  where  he  had  chestnutted;  the 
old  orchards  were  cut  down  or  neglected;  many 
things  had  changed,  for  the  city  was  steadily  grow- 
ing countrywards.  He  had  only  time  to  make  hasty 
observations  as  they  passed.  Tootler  would  have 
been  glad  to  pull  up  for  larger  view  of  fine  house 
or  finished  grounds  or  lovely  rural  landscape,  but 
that  imperious  shower  said  no.  Presently  they 
turned  off  the  highroad  into  a  sylvan  lane,  between 
tall  hedges.    A  desultory  avenue  of  elms  shaded  it. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  87 

On  one  side  was  a  gravel  walk,  along  which  a  little 
girl  was  driving  a  hoop  towards  them. 

"  Jump  in,  Cissy,"  called  Tootler,  pulling  in  the 
mare. 

A  charming  bright-eyed  damsel  clambered  in  and 
began  to  fondle  her  father.  Her  smile  had  the  same 
bright,  cheerful,  magical  charm  as  his. 

"  This  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Waddy,"  said  he. 
"  Give  him  a  kiss — or,  better  still,  one  for  every  year 
he  has  been  away  from  his  friends.', 

And  again  Mr.  Waddy  felt  his  heart  glow  with  a 
warmth  almost  youthful  as  the  fresh  red  lips  touched 
his. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN    WHICH    THE    READER    IS    ALLOWED    TO    WORSHIP 
AT  THE  SHRINE 

IF  this  were  a  three-volumed  novel,  here  would 
expand  a  wondrous  chance  for  a  luxuriant, 
George  Robbinsy  description  of  that  delightful  rural 
retreat,  the  villa  of  Thomas  Tootler,  Esq.  But 
though  we  enjoy  the  bliss  and  comfort  of  that 
worthy,  we  must  leave  his  accessories  to  be  imagined 
from  the  man.  Of  course  he  had  a  house,  not  too 
large,  not  too  small  for  the  pleasant  actual  trio  of 
his  family,  and  extensible  to  include  future  possi- 
bilities. Of  course  grounds  were  worthy  of  house, 
garden  of  grounds,  fruits  of  garden. 

The  equine  Cecilia  walked  slowly  up  the  hill  and 
lounged  into  the  gate,  no  longer  caring  to  hasten 
her  certainty  of  oaten  banquet,  or  spoil  her  appetite 
by  trepidation.  A  fine-looking  darkey  stepped  for- 
ward and  took  her  head,  while  the  gentlemen  de- 
scended. 

"  Fugitive  slave."  whispered  Mr.  Tootler.  "  Jef- 
ferson Lee  Compton  Davis — first  families  of  Vir- 
ginia on  the  fathers  side  and  on  the  maternal  grand- 
father's." 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  89 

Little  Cecilia  had  scampered  away  at  once,  and 
now  reappeared,  bright  as  a  cherub  in  a  sunbeam, 
leading  her  mother  by  the  hand.  At  sight  of  the 
stranger,  this  lady  checked  herself  at  the  threshold. 
But  she  had  evidently,  as  Mr.  Tootler  said,  heard 
already  of  Mr.  Waddy,  and  when  her  husband  pre- 
sented him  by  name,  she  stepped  forward  with  a 
shy  tremble  of  diffident  friendliness  lovely  to 
behold. 

If  Mr.  Tootler  had  fittingly  represented  the  mas- 
culine side  of  friendship,  Mrs.  Tootler  as  sincerely 
acted  the  feminine  part.  It  was  not  merely  the  few 
cordial  words,  expressing  her  pleasure  at  meeting 
her  husband's  old  friend,  to  whom  he  owed  so  much 
in  so  many  ways,  but  the  frank  grasp  of  the  hand, 
the  bright  look  of  genuine  welcome  in  the  clear 
brown  eyes,  the  blush  of  warm  interest,  the  winning 
smile  as  she  introduced  the  friend  into  a  home,  as  he 
must  henceforth  feel  it — all  this  was  more  and  more 
on  the  side  of  happiness.  Mr.  Waddy  was  again 
conscious  of  that  unaccustomed  feeling  overcoming 
him,  like  a  summer  cloud  full  of  summer's  joyful 
tears. 

Airs.  Tootler  left  them  to  give  orders  about  the 
fatted  calf  and  icing  the  champagne.  Tommy  con- 
ducted his  friend  to  his  room,  and  both,  with  their 
coats  off,  were  commencing  their  toilet,  chatting 
through  an  open  door  of  communication,  when  there 
came  a  sudden  alarm  from  little  Cecilia. 


90  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

"  Papa !  "  she  cried,  running  up  the  stair,  "  come 
quick!    Some  men  are  fighting  Jefferson." 

The  host  and  guest  were  down  the  stair  and  in  the 
barnyard  in  an  instant.  Four  men  were  endeavour- 
ing to  put  the  Fugitive  Slave  Bill  in  operation. 
Jefferson  believed  in  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence, and  was  making  wondrous  play  for  freedom, 
but  four  were  too  many  for  him.  They  had  him 
down  and  were  producing  handcuffs.  Two  of  the 
men  were  in  the  Virginia  uniform  of  black  dress- 
coat  and  shiny  satin  waistcoat.  The  other  two  were 
Deputy  Marshals  Hookey  and  Tucker. 

It  was  beautiful  as  forked  lightning  to  see  Mr. 
Tootler  count  himself  in  and  make  free  with  the 
fight.  He  alighted  like  a  bomb,  unexpected,  on  one 
Virginian  who  had  his  knee  on  the  negro's  head. 
This  man,  for  reasons,  appeared  no  more  in  the 
fray.  Ira,  of  course,  followed  his  friend  and  occu- 
pied himself  with  raising  bumps  on  the  countenance 
of  Marshal  Tucker.  Jefferson  Davis,  once  released, 
soon  floored  the  second  Virginian. 

"  Cut,  Jeff,  and  go  to  Sammy's,"  cried  Tommy, 
amidst  his  attentions  to  Hookey.  "  I'll  send  your 
clothes  in  the  morning,"  and  Jeff  was  off  in  an  in- 
stant. 

The  prey  escaped,  the  two  marshals  preferred  not 
to  be  bruised  further  and  called  a  truce.  Virginian 
No.  2  was  quite  groggy  and  hors  de  combat.  Crack- 
ers, the  dog,  had  pounced  upon  his  fellow-hunts- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  91 

man  as  he  lay,  and  was  smiling  at  him  with  very 
white  teeth.  At  this  moment,  with  a  neighbour 
flash,  bang  went  the  big  thunder-gun  and  down  came 
the  deluge.  The  two  gentlemen  took  refuge  within, 
leaving  the  vanquished  to  scamper  for  their  carriage 
with  such  speed  as  they  were  capable  of.  As  the 
heroes  re-entered  the  house,  they  met  Mrs.  Tootler 
rushing  forward  with  a  double-barrelled  gun  and 
silver  fish-knife.  The  black  cook,  with  a  distinct 
cuisiney  odor  of  fatted  calf,  was  in  the  van,  armed 
with  a  gridiron  and  pitcher  of  steaming  water. 
This  reserve  was,  however,  needless  as  the  Prussians 
at  Waterloo,  and  there  was  no  pursuit. 

"Well,  Waddy,"  said  the  host,  "  how  are  you? 
Knuckles  lame?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  guest,  "  my  man  was  rather 
cushiony  about  the  chops.  Neither  of  us  was  much 
hurt." 

"Capital  little  shindy!"  said  Tommy,  glowing 
with  satisfaction.  "  I  think  I  shall  take  a  station  of 
the  Underground  for  the  chances  of  such  an  ap- 
petiser now  and  then.  I  haven't  felt  such  a  meri- 
torious hunger  for  ages.  Very  likely  we'll  be  ar- 
rested in  the  morning." 

Battles  in  a  worthy  cause  win  favour  with  the  fair. 

Mrs.  Cecilia  looked  a  little  anxiously  for  wounds,  but 

there  were  none  save  what  a  stitch  might  repair. 

She  plucked  a  rose  for  each,  as  a  palm  of  victory. 

At   dinner,   after  the   asphodel   cauliflower,   the 


92  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

lotus  celery,  the  pommes  d' amour  tomatoes,  and  the 
amaranthine  flower-adorned  fruits,  the  friends  talked 
over  this  melee,  sipping  meanwhile  their  nectar  cof- 
fee, and  wielding  the  nephelegeret  sceptre  of  to- 
bacco. Mrs.  Tootler  was  not  to  be  weeded  out. 
They  could  not  spare  her  presence,  blithe  and  de- 
bonnaire,  nor  in  the  discussion  her  unembarrassed 
womanly  rectitude. 

"  You  must  be  indignant,  Tommy,"  said  Ira,  "  at 
the  intrusion  of  those  kidnappers." 

"  Unfortunately  our  moral  sense  on  these  subjects 
is  too  much  degraded,"  answered  Tommy.  "  I  am 
angry,  of  course,  but  I  do  not  think  half  enough  of 
the  infernal  shame  to  that  poor  darkey.  He  must  go 
to  Canada,  just  as  much  an  exile  as  any  of  the  for- 
eigners we  make  such  disturbance  about." 

"  I  may  seem  rather  ignorant,"  said  Waddy, 
"  after  my  long  absence,  but  tell  me,  do  men  with  the 
social  position  of  gentlemen  here  accept  office  from 
a  government  that  is  willing  to  make  and  execute 
such  laws  as  this  Fugitive  Slave  Bill?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  Mere  social  position  does  not  make 
men  gentlemen.  They  call  themselves  conserva- 
tives." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Ira,  "  that  in  the  present 
condition  of  things,  a  conservative  must  be  either 
an  ignoramus,  a  coward,  or  a  knave.  But,  madam," 
he  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Tootler,  "  we  are  boring 
you  with  politics.    Parlous  chiffons." 


Mr.   Waddy's   Return  93 

"  Chiffons! "  cried  Cecilia.  "  I  am  really  indig- 
nant, Mr.  Waddy.  I  do  not  believe  that  the  gentle- 
man so  quietly  smoking  by  your  side  would  ever 
have  been  really  roused  if  I  were  not  always  buzzing 
in  his  ears." 

"  She  is  right,"  admitted  Mr.  Tootler,  sipping  the 
last  drops  of  his  now  cold  coffee.  "  Women  are  vig- 
orous antidotes  to  moral  or  mental  sleepiness.  But, 
Waddy,  our  little  adventure  is  bringing  the  present 
too  near  us;  to-night  must  be  devoted  to  recalling 
our  dear  old  days  together.  To-morrow  we'll  talk 
politics  and  be  sad  for  the  uncertainties  of  our  cause 
— '  ma  quest  oggi  n'  e  dato  goder,'  "  he  sang. 

"  '  Non  contiamo  Y  incerto  domani,'  "  responded 
Cecilia,  with  spirit,  from  the  same  air,  "  which  I 
freely  translate  that  we  do  not  count  the  future  of 
our  cause  uncertain  at  all,  either  to-morrow  or 
after." 

It  is  a  fascinating  thing  to  see  a  lovely  woman  in 
wrath,  and  probably  Mr.  Waddy  thought  for  the 
moment  more  of  how  startlingly  bright  were  the 
eyes  of  the  lady,  and  how  quick  her  heart's  blood 
leaped  to  her  vivid  cheek,  than  of  the  cause  that  made 
the  eyes  electric  and  the  cheek  burning. 

"  My  wife  knows  all  the  old  songs,  Ira,"  said 
Tommy,  also  gazing  admiringly,  but  deeming  it 
discreet  to  change  the  subject,  "  and  I've  not  for- 
gotten my  stock.  We'll  have  the  old  first,  as  old 
wine  should  come,   and  then,   if  satiety  does  not 


94  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

interfere,   you  shall  have  new  music  till   you  cry 
basta" 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Cecilia,  the  little  storm  over  in  an 
instant,  "I've  learnt  all  your  old  favourites,  Mr. 
Waddy.  We  have  always  expected  you  and  deter- 
mined to  make  you  forget  your  sad  absence,"  and 
then,  as  if  she  had  been  too  frank  and  had  betrayed 
some  confidence  of  husband  and  wife,  she  shrank  a 
little  and  folded  into  herself  like  a  mimosa  leaf. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Waddy    simply. 

So  they  had  music.  Mrs.  Tootler's  voice  was  a 
pearly  soprano  of  more  marked  tenderness  and  senti- 
ment than  you  would  have  expected  from  her  blithe- 
someness  of  manner.  Tommy's  was  a  barytone, 
strong  and  rich ;  it  rolled  out  of  the  happy  little  man 
in  a  careless  way,  perpetually  making  musical  ten- 
strikes.  Mr.  Waddy  sometimes  contributed  a  bass 
note,  deep  as  an  oubliette. 

But  it  was  his  part  to  assist  passively  rather  than 
actively  at  the  concert.  He  would  have  listened 
quite  forever,  but  at  last  the  husband  detected  huski- 
ness  and  said  punch.  Thereupon  he  brewed  a  browst 
— tumblers  for  the  men,  a  wineglass  for  the  lady. 
They  partook  by  the  rising  moonlight. 

"  What  are  your  plans?  "  asked  Tommy.  "  You 
will  stay  with  us  a  week,  or  a  month,  or  five  years?  " 

"  I  have  no  plans  except  to  buy  the  black  colt  to- 
morrow. I  expect  pretty  soon  an  English  friend, 
and  have  promised  to  look  up  the  lions  with  him. 


Mr.   Waddy's   Return  95 

Apropos,  perhaps  you  can  put  him  in  the  way  of 
seeing  your  Boston  dons.  He  is  an  accomplished 
fellow,  naturalist,  man  of  science,  charming  com- 
panion, and  brave  soldier." 

"  He  will  find  the  Boston  dons  rather  slow,"  said 
Tommy;  "there  is  nothing  soldierly  about  them. 
A  respectably  studious  and  rather  dyspeptic  set. 
Quite  conventional  and  conscious  of  European  in- 
fluence. But  here's  to  the  midnight  moon !  "  he 
added,  as  that  gibbous  deity  cleft  the  clouds  and 
seemed  sailing  upward  through  their  stationary 
masses.  "  One  can  see  almost  heaven  and  the 
angels!  " 

"But  why  do  you  look  up  yonder  for  them?" 
queried  Waddy,  when  the  toast  was  drunk.  "  Your 
life  seems  to  me  a  revelation  of  earthly  heaven,  with 
one  abiding  angelic  presence.  You  think  my  rhap- 
sodies mere  Oriental  absurdities,  perhaps,  Mrs.  Ce- 
cilia— but  it  seems  to  me  that  my  friend,  with  you, 
has  attained  to  happiness.  You  were  always  a 
hopeful  man,  Tommy;  now  you  seem  by  hopes 
achieved  to  have  learnt  what  they  call  Faith.  Well, 
you  deserve  it.  For  me,  whatever  I  have  deserved, 
there  is  only  a  poor  refuge  of  such  careless  stoicism 
as  I  affect,"  and  he  uttered  in  some  strange  tongue 
an  expression  savage  and  stern  as  the  growl  of  a 
lion. 

"  No ! "  said  he  again,  after  a  silence,  during 
which  his  friends  had  been,  perhaps,  seeking  vainly 


96  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

for  the  right  word ;  "  my  dear  Mrs.  Cecilia,  my  first 
evening  at  your  lovely  house  shall  not  end  sulkily  on 
my  part.  Tommy,  unsheathe  your  jocund  flute  and 
draw  thenceforth   soul-animating  strains." 

Tommy  was  not  one  of  those  non-performing 
humbugs,  noticed  by  Socrates  as  existing  in  his 
time,  who  are  uniformly  out  of  practice  or  have 
left  their  notes  at  home,  so  he  got  out  his  flute  im- 
mediately, and  accompanied  Cecilia  in  a  delicious 
echo  song,  the  silver  sounds  threading  themselves 
among  the  fine  moonbeams  that  floated  through  the 
network  of  vines  over  the  piazza  where  they  sat. 
With  the  last  fading  echo,  drifted  away  every 
thought  of  bitterness,  and  the  calm  midnight  silence 
fell  around  them  peacefully.     So  they  separated. 

Mr.  Waddy  stood  at  the  window  of  his  bedroom, 
looking  out  upon  the  night.  Was  it  to  the  spirit  of 
the  night  that  he  stretched  forth  his  arms  and  mur- 
mured words  of  yearning  tenderness?  His  hand 
was  feeling,  as  if  unconsciously,  in  his  bosom.  He 
missed  something. 

"  My  Testament !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Ah,  now  I 
remember — the  wreck." 

He  lighted  a  cigar,  but  after  a  puff  or  two,  threw 
it  away  and  turned  in.  His  health  was  excellent, 
despite  the  memories  which  troubled  him  from  time 
to  time,  and  after  the  long  day  diversified  with  inci- 
dents of  collision  and  shindy,  he  slept  solidly,  not 
far  from  the  scenes  of  old  happiness,  lost  long  ago. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  PARABLE  OF  A  HUMBLE  BEAST  OF  BURDEN  AND 
OF  LILIES  THAT  TOIL  NOT 

BREAKFAST,  with  Cecilia  to  preside,  was 
bright  as  summer  sunrise.  Little  Cecilia  had 
her  bouquet  of  dewy  roses  for  father  and  friend. 
The  whiff  of  coffee  perfume  was  like  a  gale  of  Araby 
the  blest.  Just  as  the  meal  was  ended,  a  servant  an- 
nounced that  Mr.  Bishop  was  outside  with  a  horse. 
They  sallied  forth  to  inspect  it. 

Mr.  Bishop  was  a  flashy  man,  not  quite  jockey, 
not  quite  farmer,  rather  of  the  squireen  type.  He 
had  associated  enough  with  gentlemen  to  know  how 
they  permit  themselves  to  slang  and  swear.  He  was, 
however,  better  than  a  gentleman  jockey,  who,  like 
a  gentleman  stool-pigeon,  is  doubly  dangerous. 
But  no  jockey  could  say  more  for  the  black  horse 
than  was  evident  in  every  bend  of  his  body,  in 
every  tense  muscle  and  chord  of  the  delicate  limbs. 

"  He  is  high-couraged,  sir,"  said  Bishop,  "  and 
has  played  the  devil  with  some  folks.  You  seem  to 
know  how  to  handle  a  horse." 

Waddy  ran  his  hand  over  the  legs,  as  free  from 
knots  as  a  Malacca  joint;  then  standing  at  his  head, 

97 


98  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

he  let  the  colt  nibble  at  a  bit  of  moist  biscuit  and 
took  the  opportunity  quietly  to  look  at  his  mouth. 

"  He  seems  all  right,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  Move 
him  a  little,  if  you  please." 

Bishop  started  him  off.  The  stride  and  spring 
were  smooth  as  a  raw  oyster ;  both  told  of  speed  and 
power. 

"  There's  no  mistake  about  him,"  said  Bishop, 
bringing  him  back.  "  I  meant  to  have  kept  him  to 
ride  myself,  but  times  is  gittin'  hard  [i.  e.,  brandy 
has  gone  up] .  Besides,  my  daughter,  Sally,  is  gittin' 
sicker  an'  I'll  have  to  go  south  with  her  next  winter 
and  shan't  need  no  horse,  an'  '11  want  the  rocks.  Mr. 
Tootler  knows  the  horse  an'  kin  tell  you  what  he 
did  when  we  tried  him  on  the  course.  If  you  buy 
him  an'  '11  keep  dark,  you'll  be  mighty  apt  to  take 
'em  down  that  tries  to  run  with  you." 

"  I'll  take  him,"  said  Ira,  without  more  parley. 
"Tootler,  will  you  give  Mr.  Bishop  your  check?" 

While  Tootler  was  drawing  the  check,  Cecilia 
came  out  with  a  small  basket.  She  offered  it  to 
Bishop. 

"  I've  been  putting  up  some  jelly  for  Miss 
Sally,"  she  said.  "  It  may  tempt  her.  How  is  she 
to-day?" 

"  The  best  to  be  said,"  replied  Bishop,  "  is  she 
ain't  gittin'  no  wus.  The  doctor  says  she  ain't  so 
much  sick  as  down  in  the  mouth.  She's  off  her  feed 
an'  seems  to  have  got  suthin'  on  her  mind.    P'r'aps 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  99 

it's  religion.  She  wants  me  to  stop  swearin' ;  but 
I'll  be  durned  if  I  kin.  I  wish  you'd  come  over  an' 
see  her  ag'in,  ma'am.  You're  the  only  one  as  does 
her  any  good." 

He  spoke  with  evident  feeling  and  sincerity,  and 
Mrs.  Tootler  promised  to  go. 

A  moment  later,  Mr.  Tootler  emerged  from  the 
house  and  handed  Bishop  the  check.  The  black  was 
transferred  to  Mr.  Waddy. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  part  with  him,"  said  Bishop,  real 
regret  in  his  voice ;  "  but  you  look  like  you'd  treat 
him  well,  sir.  He  ain't  used  to  the  whip.  He's 
never  been  struck  but  once,  when  that  damn  Belden 
talked  of  buyin'  him.  Belden  handled  him  kind  er 
careless  an'  then  give  him  a  crack.  I  guess  he  got 
dropped  easy — the  fool !  He's  had  a  spite  agin  the 
horse  ever  since,  an'  I'm  kind  er  glad  to  git  him  out 
o'  the  way  of  any  mean  trick.  Belden's  a  kind  o' 
feller  not  to  fergit  it  when  any  critter's  been  too 
much  fer  him — horse  or  man  or  woman,  either." 

He  looked  at  the  horse  for  a  moment,  and  then 
walked  away,  turning  to  look  back  once  or  twice 
regretfully,  but  consoling  himself  by  the  expensive 
check,  subscribed  by  a  man  well  known  in  State 
Street. 

"Don't  you  remember  Sally  Bishop?"  asked 
Tootler  of  his  friend.  "  A  very  handsome  girl  she 
was — poor  thing! — dying  now.  Seems  to  me  you 
used  to  go  with  Belden  to  see  her." 


ioo  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  I  knew  her  slightly,"  replied  Waddy,  in  a  tone 
the  reverse  of  encouraging.  "  It's  a  bad  thing  to 
have  intimacies  with  second-rate  women.  If  you 
have  a  saddle,"  he  continued,  "  that  will  fit  my  horse, 
I'll  ride  him  in  to  town  now.  By  the  way,  what 
shall  I  name  him  ?  He's  as  black  as  death — '  mors, 
pallida  mors'— that's  it— Pallid!  I'll  call  him  by 
rule  of  contraries.  Pal,  for  short;  we  shall  be  pals, 
eh,  old  boy?"  and  he  caressed  the  horse,  who  re- 
sponded in  kind,  instinctively  knowing  a  friend. 

Pallid  was  larger  than  Cecilia,  but  her  saddle  was 
well  enough  for  the  short  ride.  Tootler  was  obliged 
to  be  in  the  wool  again  early.  Jefferson  Davis  not 
being  present  to  preside  over  the  cavalry,  the  gar- 
dener laid  down  the  shovel  and  the  hoe  and  took  up 
the  curry-comb.  Pallid  was,  of  course,  resplend- 
ent for  the  sale,  as  a  bride  is  when  her  bargain  is 
ratified. 

Waddy  was  proud  of  his  acquisition.  Every  fine 
fellow  has  something  of  the  caballero  in  his  nature. 
My  friend,  Misogynist,  says  a  horse  is  the  most  beau- 
tiful animal. 

"  Woman !  glorious  woman !  "  I  suggest  enthu- 
siastically. 

"  Good  to  look  at,"  M.  admits,  "  but  bad  to  go. 
Be  kind  to  the  horse,  and  he  is  grateful  and  will  not 
try  to  harm  you.  But  woman — the  more  you  let  her 
have  her  head,  the  more  she  will  try  to  throw  you. 
Bah !  my  kingdom  for  a  horse ;  he  shall  be  king ;  no 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  101 

bedizened  woman  sovereign  for  me!  Look  at  his 
smooth,  brilliant  coat — no  pomade  there!  See 
that  easy  motion ;  inccdat  rex.  Think  of  his  simple 
toilet!  two  blankets,  thick  and  thin.  Yes,  noble 
comrade!  I  will  be  no  carpet  knight,  nor  dwindle 
away  with  ridiculous  sighs  before  shrines  of  plastic 
dough  images,  or  of  models  of  brassiness,  but  with 
thee  will  I  away  over  boundlessness.  Plains  vast  as 
the  sea  await  our  gallop.    Charge !  " 

So  far  Misogynist — I  will  add  that  of  the  two 
classes  of  animals,  horses  are  cheaper  to  keep,  and 
when  you  have  them,  are  yours,  and  not  the  prop- 
erty of  the  first  admirer. 

The  gardener  brought  Cecilia  to  the  door,  shining 
from  her  morning  toilet.  Lady  Cecilia,  with  the 
lesser  lady,  came  to  bid  the  guest  adieu.  Lady  and 
child  bore  flowers  of  midsummer  to  be  rus  in  urbe  for 
the  gentlemen.  Cecilia  was  charming  in  her  morn- 
ing dress.  As  she  said  good-bye,  the  sparkle  of  her 
brown  eyes  was  brighter,  the  blush  warmer,  the 
voice  more  musical,  the  shy  tremor  of  friendliness 
more  graceful.  "  Happy  Tootler!  "  thought  Waddy; 
"  one  of  the  rare  few  who  are  appointed  to  be  illus- 
trations to  others  of  happiness." 

"  You  will  come  again  soon,"  said  Cecilia.  "  A 
room  in  our  house  has  become  yours.  You  must  in- 
habit it  to  keep  ghosts  from  colonising.  You  too, 
perhaps,  are  in  some  danger  of  companionship  of 
glooms,  which  are  certainly  as  bad  as  ghosts.    Come 


|4i  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

here  always  and  we  will  sing  them  away.  I  have  a 
dozen  plans  for  you  already  for  summer  and  winter 
— and  then  I  intend  you  for  a  husband  for  little 
Cissy  here.    What  do  you  think  of  it,  Cissy?  " 

"  I  hardly  know,  mamma,"  said  Cissy  seriously. 
"  I  should  wish  to  ask  papa." 

"  Quite  precociously  right,  my  dear,"  commended 
Mr.  Waddy ;  "  a  lesson  to  your  imprudent  mother." 

"  Not  imprudent,  Cissy,"  corrected  Tootler. 
"  You  are  wise  to  get  the  first  refusal  of  our  nabob. 
There  will  be  hordes  of  matrons  after  him,  like 
wolves  after  a  buffalo,  and  they'll  run  him  down  un- 
less he  accepts  his  fate  and  consents  to  be  shot  be- 
forehand. But  come,  Ira,  I  must  voyage  Boston- 
ward  for  the  golden  fleece." 

"  I  go  to  New  York  this  evening  for  a  few  days  on 
business,"  added  Waddy.  "  Good-bye,  till  I  return. 
A  kiss,  little  Cissy !  " 

Tommy  said  good-bye  to  his  wife,  and  her  bright 
smile  went  with  him,  as  ever,  and  her  glad  voice 
sang  about  him  in  every  silent  moment  of  his  busy 
day. 

Mr.  Waddy  rode  slowly  along,  trying  Pallid 
through  his  paces.  The  beautiful  head,  unchecked 
by  any  martingale,  shook  and  tossed  in  the  freedom 
of  a  masculine  coquetry.  To  control  him  was  like 
managing  the  moods  of  a  wild  woman — charming 
distraction.  Ira  did  not  wish  to  trot  him, — he  was 
not  to  be  a  roadster, — but  he  gave  Cecilia  a  little 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  103 

brush  on  a  level.  She  was  somewhere  after  the  race, 
but  it  was  lengths  in  the  rear. 

At  the  Tremont,  Chin  Chin  was  in  waiting.  The 
friends  parted,  and  Mr.  Waddy  turned  his  face  New 
Yorkward,  in  kindlier  mood  than  he  had  known  for 
many  years. 

That  town,  however,  was  not  calculated  to  en- 
courage moods  of  cheerfulness.  He  had  seen  others 
larger,  several  cleaner,  many  handsomer.  It  was 
hot,  and  mosquitoes  were  about. 

Mr.  Waddy's  arrival  was  announced  in  the  papers 
among  "  distinguished  strangers."  Old  De  Flour- 
noy  Budlong  saw  the  name  and  called  upon  its 
owner  in  the  evening.  About  matters  personal  to 
himself,  Mr.  Waddy  talked  little.  He  had  not  men- 
tioned even  to  Tootler  the  incident  of  his  wreck. 
But  Mr.  Budlong  was  too  much  occupied  with  his 
private  affairs  to  question  the  mode  of  Mr.  Waddy's 
arrival.  The  red  silk  pocket  handkerchief  of  other 
days  abode  with  him  still,  in  flaunting  defiance  of  the 
modern  elegance  of  his  family.  In  his  talk,  he  used 
it  freely  on  a  forehead  whose  heated,  anxious  col- 
ouring might  pale  the  cochineal  of  its  polisher.  He 
had  much  to  say. 

"Where  are  the  ladies?"  was  naturally  Mr. 
Waddy's  first  question. 

"  They  are  at  Newport,  sir,"  answered  Bud, 
with  a  queer  mixture  of  pride  and  apprehension. 
"  They're  at  the  Millard  House.    De  Flournoy,  Jr., 


104  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

is  with  them.  It's  very  expensive,  sir.  Why,  it's  re- 
markable how  that  boy  has  to  subscribe — five  hun- 
dred dollars  the  first  week!  Subscriptions  he  says 
to  the  club  and  balls  and  picnics — I  should  judge  he 
is  very  popular." 

"  No  doubt,"  commented  Ira. 

"  That  Frenchman  is  with  them,  too,"  continued 
Bud.    "  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  Damned  low  beggar!  "  said  Ira   tersely. 

Bud  visibly  brightened  and  polished  himself  in 
vigorous  approval. 

"  Quite  right,"  he  agreed;  "  I  respect  your  judg- 
ment, sir.  I  want  Mrs.  B.  to  drop  his  acquaintance ; 
but  she  says  he  belongs  to  the  hot  nubbless,  whatever 
that  is.  Why,  sir,  that  Frenchman  haunts  me  like 
a  flea.  Everything  I  eat  tastes  of  frogs !  And  then 
Tim's  subscriptions — five  hundred  dollars  in  one 
week !  Why,  sir,  that  would  make  him  a  life  mem- 
ber and  director  of  the  Bible  Society  and  the  Tract 
Society  and  the  Foreign  Missions!"  and  the  poor 
man  fell  to  polishing  himself  again  with  his  piratical 
handkerchief. 

"  I  can't  go  to  look  after  them  before  next  week," 
he  continued,  "  if  then.  You  see,  I've  got  a  little 
operation  in  flour.  It  '11  pay  subscriptions,  get  him 
on  the  corn  exchange,  and  Budlong  is  himself 
again.  But  it's  dull  music  staying  in  town.  I'm  at 
the  Astor.  Everybody's  away  and  there's  no 
peaches,"  and  old  Bud,  who  had  been  working  hard 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  105 

all  his  days,  and  now  was  more  than  willing  to  lead 
a  life  of  jolly  quiet,  went  off  excessively  disquieted. 

"  It's  the  old  story,"  thought  Ira,  as  he  closed  the 
door  behind  his  friend.  "  I'm  sorry  for  him.  This 
is  a  case  to  put  in  the  scale  against  Tootler.  But  it 
demands  a  whole  cityful  of  Budlongs  to  over- 
balance one  righteous  man  like  Tommy  and  his 
family.  Mrs.  Tootler  almost  revives  my  faith  in 
women,  and  I  had  thought  that  gone  forever  after 
that  experience  which  nearly  made  my  life  a  ruin. 

"  Rather  a  well-built  ruin,  though,"  he  thought, 
glancing  at  the  mirror,  "  and  especially  sound  in  the 
treasure-vaults.  I  would  not  quarrel  with  my  ex- 
perience for  making  me  the  man  I  have  become,  were 
it  not  that  my  isolation  of  bitter  distrust  in  the  one 
I  most  trusted  has  secluded  me  from  all  the  chances 
of  common  happiness.  And  yet  there  are  others 
sharing  the  same  exile,  bearing  a  heavier  burden, 
who  present  a  brave  face  to  the  world,  even  a  cheer- 
ful one — for  instance,  Granby — married  in  a  freak 
of  boyish  generosity  to  a  vulgar,  drunken  terma- 
gant !  Suppose  I  had  fallen  into  the  same  mistake  ? 
Suppose  I  had  married  Sally  Bishop ;  is  it  likely  that 
I  should  have  learnt  to  control  the  old  Ira  of  my 
nature  ? 

"  All  my  voyage  from  Europe  homeward,  there 
was  droning  in  my  ears  the  monotonous  refrain  of  a 
sad  Spanish  song,  '  Se  acabo  para  mi  l'esperanza/ 
I  heard  it  in  the  gale,  the  moment  our  schooner 


106  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

struck,  and  I  thought  '  now  the  old  earthly  hopes  are 
dead  with  my  death,  and  new  hopes  of  other  lives 
shall  be.'  As  I  lay  in  my  trance,  all  the  old  bitter- 
ness passed  away,  and  the  old  hopes  grew  fresh  and 
confident  again  as  in  happy  days  before  disappoint- 
ment; and  then  the  presence  that  was  the  joy  of 
those  days  came  near,  and  I  seemed  to  have  at- 
tained to  dearest  death  and  to  a  moment  of  heaven 
that  should  interpret  all  the  cruel  mysteries  of  exist- 
ence. And  I  seemed  to  hear  again  the  voice  that 
flowed  so  deliriously  through  my  youth  and  made 
my  heart  first  know  what  heart-beats  mean.  But  it 
was  not  death  I  had  attained,  only  a  vision,  such  as 
my  waking  life  could  never  have,  and  when  I  really 
woke  again  in  Dempster's  house,  it  was  to  the  mel- 
ancholy of  the  same  refrain,  '  Se  acabo  para  mi 
l'esperanza.'  " 

For  a  moment  more  he  sat  and  stared  down  into 
the  street  with  heavy  eyes  that  saw  not — what  was  it 
brought  before  him  the  face  of  Sally  Bishop  and 
beside  it  another  face,  her  face 

He  shook  himself  impatiently  and  cast  his  dark 
thoughts  from  him. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  READER  IS  PRESENTED  TO  TWO  CHARMING  GIRLS, 
AND  SO  IS  MAJOR  GRANBY 

/\ND  now  while  a  certain  Peter  Skerrett,  stu- 
JT\.  pendous  wag,  who  is  in  town  for  a  day  or  two 
and  has  been  presented  to  Mr.  Waddy  by  old  Bud- 
long,  is  showing  the  returned  nabob  through  streets 
of  deserted  houses  and  telling  him  the  necessary  pro- 
tective scandals  about  their  owners : 

And  while  at  Newport,  in  the  society  of  De 
Chateauneant,  Tim  Budlong  is  subscribing  more 
freely  than  ever,  and  the  Budlong  ladies  are  quiver- 
ing through  the  tcr-diurnal  shift  of  toilets  re- 
splendent : 

And  while  Sally  Bishop,  who  has  heard  from  her 
father  how  he  had  sold  the  black  to  a  Mr.  Ira 
Waddy,  just  returned  from  India,  is  dying  with 
something  on  her  mind  which  she  dare  not  yet  re- 
veal : 

And  while  Horace  Belden  is  beating  his  bolting 
horse  and  training  another,  to  which  he  naturally 
gives  the  name  of  Knockknees,  to  run,  and  no  doubt 
to  win  purses,  and  is  nursing  his  finances  for  an 

August  at  Newport  with  its  possible  heiress : 

107 


108  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

And  while  Miss  Sullivan,  at  her  lovely  cottage  op- 
posite Belden's,  is  singing  duets  with  Mrs.  Cecilia 
Tootler,  to  whom,  though  that  lady  has  often  spoken 
of  the  delightful  visit  of  Mr.  Waddy,  her  friend,  she 
has  never  yet  mentioned  her  share  in  the  rescue  of  a 
person  of  that  name : 

While  all  our  acquaintances  are  busied  thus, 
Major  Granby,  at  Halifax,  boards  a  Cunarder,  em- 
barked for  Boston.  As  he  mounted  the  plank,  a 
young  excessively  English  man  defended  the  gang- 
way with  open  fist.  The  major  won  his  entrance  by 
grasping  the  fist  in  amicable  guise. 

"Why,  how  d'ye  do,  Ambient?"  he  said  to  his 
compatriot,  a  pleasant-faced  pinkling.  "  So  you 
have  really  started  on  your  travels." 

"  Aw !  Gwanby,  I'm  vewy  glad  to  see  you,"  replied 
Sir  Comeguys  Ambient,  generally  called  briefly  Sir 
Com.  "  Yes,  I've  begun  my  jowney  wound  the 
wowuld.    It's  lownger  than  I  thought." 

"  You've  had  some  pleasant  company,  anyway," 
said  the  major,  examining  discreetly  two  young 
ladies  who  stood  near  the  rail,  and  who,  seemingly, 
found  much  to  interest  them  in  the  shoreward 
view. 

"  Yes ;  doosed  handsome  gerwuls,"  agreed  Sir 
Com,  "  and  vewy  agweeable,  but  know  too  much." 

"  Not  exactly  in  your  line  then,  eh?  " 

"  I'm  weelly  a  little  afwaid  of  them,"  admitted  the 
valiant  youth.    "  But  the  dark  one  is  a  wegular  stun- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  109 

ner  for  eyes  and  hair.  The  fair  one  is  Miss  Clara 
Waddie.  The  bwunette  is  her  friend,  Diana,"  and 
the  pinkling's  cheeks  became  all  suffused  with  his  in- 
genuous heart's  blood. 

"  Ah,"  said  Granby,  observing  the  suffusion,  "  so 
that  goddess — and  she  is  a  goddess — has  transfixed 
you !  Beware  how  you  trifle  with  her;  these  Ameri- 
can ladies  do  not  hesitate  to  call  a  man  out.  Your 
Diana  is  divine,  but  your  Clara  is  angelic.  Waddy  ? 
I  have  a  friend  of  that  name.  I'm  going  now  to 
meet  him  in  Boston." 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  Major  Granby,  who  had 
a  soldier-like  impetuosity  in  assaulting  new  oppor- 
tunities, was  presented  to  Waddie  pere  and  by  him 
to  the  ladies. 

Mr.  Waddie  of  New  York  was  a  tall,  slender 
gentleman,  clean-shaven  and  high-cravatted.  A  bit 
of  white  collar  on  each  side  narrowed  his  range  of 
chin  movement.  Dignity  required  that  his  head 
should  not  gyrate,  hence  sidelong  glances  were  only 
effected  by  a  painful  twist  of  his  eyes.  He  wore  a 
blue  frock,  buttoned,  and  remarkably  perfect  boots. 
His  manner  was  a  little  stiff,  but  entirely  well-bred, 
and  had  a  certain  careful  courtesy  very  attractive. 
Altogether,  you  would  say,  a  man  of  limited,  but 
not  narrow  mind,  gentle  and  amiable.  His  passion 
was  genealogy,  and  if  he  was  ever  querulous,  it  was 
when  inevitable  antiquaries  connected  him  with  the 
first  Waddy,  well  known  to  all  American  pedigrees, 


1 1  o  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

cook    of    the    Mayflower    and    victim    of    Miles 
Standish. 

"  Do  I  look,"  he  would  say,  "  like  the  son  of  a 
sea-cook,  even  in  the  sixth  generation?  " 

And,  indeed,  he  did  not  resemble  a  descendant  of 
the  caboose,  but  rather  a  marquis  of  the  Emigration, 
such  as  we  behold  him  at  the  Theatre  Frangais. 
This  somewhat  faded  elegant  had  another  passion: 
it  was  for  his  lovely  daughter ;  nor  was  he  the  only 
man  thus  affected. 

Mrs.  Waddie  was  wifely,  motherly,  and  a  little 
over-energetic,  as  became  the  spouse  of  so  mild 
and  unpractical  a  gentleman.  It  was  she  who  de- 
vised and  carried  out  that  purchase  of  real  estate  by 
which  their  comfortable  property  became  a  hand- 
some fortune.  It  was  she  who  officered  the  cam- 
paign which  ended  in  giving  him  the  civic  crown  of 
Member  of  Congress,  and  when  the  bad  cookery  of 
the  American  snob's  paradise  had  impaired  his 
health  and  compelled  his  resignation,  it  was  again 
his  energetic  wife  who  suggested  to  General  Taylor 
that  she  wished  the  embassy  to  Florence.  It  was  ob- 
tained, of  course,  and  was  one  of  the  most  creditable 
acts  of  that  President's  brief  career.  His  successor 
did  not  venture  to  recall  Mr.  Waddie,  although  he 
knew  the  scorn  with  which  that  gentleman,  usually 
so  amiable,  regarded  those  ridiculously  unsuccess- 
ful makeshifts  and  cowardly  compromises  of  1850. 
Mr.    Waddie's    fortune,   high    social   position,    for- 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  1 1 1 

midable  wife,  his  serene  worth  and  merited  popu- 
larity, made  him  a  person  whom  an  accidental  Presi- 
dent could  not  presume  to  offend ;  and  if  he  were  al- 
ready an  enemy,  at  least  it  were  wiser  to  keep  him 
in  a  foreign  land. 

So  his  wife  and  the  ambassador  remained  at 
Florence,  where  her  balls  crushed  the  Grand  Duke's. 
She  instituted  a  subscription  for  fronting  the  Duomo 
and  introduced  into  Florentine  life  Buckwheat 
Cakes,  Veracity,  and  Sewing  Machines — of  which 
only  the  first-named  are  still  popular  in  that  beautiful 
city. 

It  was  the  last  year  of  the  embassy  when  they 
thought  proper  to  send  for  Miss  Clara,  who,  with 
Diana,  Mr.  Waddie's  ward,  had  been  in  charge  of 
Miss  Sullivan  at  home.  This  was  the  first  year  of 
Mr.  Pierce's  administration,  and  while  he  was  hesi- 
tating whom  to  appoint  in  Mr.  Waddie's  place.  He 
did  appoint,  in  time,  a  tobacconist  from  the  South- 
west, who  viewed  the  world  only  as  a  spittoon. 

Everybody  has  been  in  Florence  or  will  go.  It 
is  not  necessary,  therefore,  here  to  describe  what 
Clara  and  Diana  saw  under  the  superintendence 
of  Miss  Sullivan,  instinctive  discoverer  of  the  best. 
They  were  devout  beneath  the  dome  of  Brunelleschi, 
rapt  beside  the  tower  of  Giotto,  critical  in  the  gal- 
leries, gay  in  the  Cascine.  The  Florentines  adored 
Clara,  the  fair.  Strangers  worshipped  Diana,  the 
dark.    This  was  not  Diana,  pale  queen  of  night,  but 


1 1 2  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

the  huntress  deity,  bold  and  clear  of  eye,  of  colours 
rich  and  warm,  with  vigorous,  fiery  blood,  hastening, 
almost  fevering,  a  living  life  of  passionateness.  An 
Amazonian  queen  was  Diana,  who  could  do  the  dash- 
ing deeds  of  an  Amazon  with  fanciful  freedom.  The 
Actseons  dreaded  her.  No  man  of  feeble  manhood 
was  permitted  in  her  presence.  Soldierly  men  and 
travellers  she  liked,  and  deep-sea  fishermen,  and 
blacksmiths  and  architects  and  heroes  and  lyric  poets. 
And  when  any  of  these  told  her  of  his  ambitions, 
large  as  life,  or  the  dangers  he  had  passed,  and  while 
he  told,  looked  in  her  unblenching  eyes  and  saw 
through  them  a  soul  that  could  comprehend  any 
great  ambition,  or  dare  any  danger;  he,  the  strong 
man,  always  loved  her  madly.  But  she,  the  strong 
woman,  the  master-hero  of  her  own  soul,  could  not 
find  her  hero.  There  were  ideal  men  in  history  for 
her  to  adore — at  least,  they  seemed  so,  as  history 
painted  them — and  as  she  read  of  them,  she  felt 
that  strange  thrill  of  despair  for  their  absence  that 
later  she  knew  to  be  the  passion  of  love — the  pas- 
sion of  the  woman  longing  for  the  fit,  appointed 
mate. 

The  friendship  of  Clara  and  Diana  was  fore- 
ordained. Its  historic  beginning  dates  back  to  the 
college  intimacy  between  young  Waddie,  refined, 
timid,  studious,  and  Diana's  father,  a  bold  and 
ardent  youth  of  southern  blood  and  foreign  race. 
This  gentleman,  being  afterward  unhappy  in   his 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  113 

home,  wandered  away  into  Texas.  There  he  ac- 
quired immense  estates  by  the  purchase  of  old 
Spanish  grants,  and  dying  early,  bequeathed  his 
only  child  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Waddie,  for  care  and 
nurture.  The  two  girls  grew  up  as  sisters,  and  it 
was  not  until  Diana's  womanhood  that  the  serious 
consideration  of  her  orphanage  was  forced  upon  her. 
Mrs.  Waddie,  the  kindest  of  mothers,  was  immersed 
in  business,  speculating  for  her  husband,  urging  him 
forward  to  posts  of  responsibility  he  shrank  from. 
She  was  therefore  ready  to  yield  her  two  daughters 
entirely  into  the  hands  of  Miss  Sullivan. 

It  was  to  Miss  Sullivan  that  the  task  fell  of  tell- 
ing Diana  the  sad  history  of  her  father  and  her 
mother,  and  how  the  mother,  after  a  life  worse  than 
death,  was  now  in  a  madhouse.  It  was  a  terrible 
revelation  for  this  pure  and  brave  young  girl.  In  an 
agony  of  tears,  she  threw  herself  into  Miss  Sulli- 
van's arms  and  prayed  her  to  be  a  mother  to  the  or- 
phan. Miss  Sullivan  must  have  been  of  a  nature 
singularly  sympathetic,  or  herself  have  felt  the  lone- 
liness of  bitter  grief,  so  deeply  did  she  know  the 
only  consolations — endurance,  and  long-suffering 
faith,  and  hope  in  other  lives,  eternal  ones. 

Clara  was  present  at  this  interview,  and,  after 
this,  the  relations  between  the  elder  and  the  younger 
women  were  closely  sisterly.  The  elder  sister, 
hardly  older  in  appearance,  except  of  paler  and  more 
thoughtful  beauty,  formed  the  younger  minds. 


H4  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Clara  Waddie  had  inherited  all  her  father's  grace 
and  refinement  of  face,  form,  mien,  manner,  and 
thought,  and  withal  had  gained  from  her  mother 
judgment  and  strength  of  character,  which  under- 
lay without  diminishing  her  delicate  sweetness. 
You  might  have  known  this  fair  young  person  for 
months  and  have  given  only  a  mental  assent  to  her 
reputation  of  exquisite  beauty;  but  one  day,  when 
some  changing  charm  of  emotion  cast  an  evanescent 
flush  upon  her  cheek  and  your  sudden  inspiration  of 
eloquence  had  roused  a  look  of  interest  in  her  lam- 
bent listening  eyes,  you  would  become  conscious  of 
more  than  mental  assent  to  her  unclaimed  claim  of 
perfect  loveliness ;  your  soul  itself  would  thenceforth 
be  cognisant  of  her  beauty. 

At  the  end  of  that  delightful  year  in  Florence, 
now  rich  with  memories  of  the  art  and  poetry  of 
Italy,  Diana  was  suddenly  summoned  to  America. 
A  •  most  favourable  change  had  come  over  her 
mother's  malady,  and  with  sanity  returning,  she  was 
praying  for  kindly  companionship  and  love.  Her 
life,  at  best,  was  to  be  but  brief,  but  it  was  thought 
that  a  residence  in  the  dry,  elevated  regions  of  the 
interior  might  prolong  it  and  allay  the  pangs  of  her 
desperate  disease.  Diana  did  not  hesitate;  she  saw 
her  duty  clearly  and  accepted  it,  rejoicing. 

Mr.  Waddie  went  over  with  Diana.  She  found 
a  mother  with  the  saddened  relics  of  a  feeble  beauty. 
Married  hastily,  out  of  silly  school,  she  had  been 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  1 1  5 

ignorantly,  in  her  husband's  absence,  bewildered  in 
the  toils  of  a  great  villainy,  which  death  to  the 
villain  and  madness  to  the  victim  had  sufficiently 
avenged.  Rejecting  Mr.  Waddie's  kind  offer  of  es- 
cort, Diana  took  her  mother  to  their  estates  in  the 
up-country  of  Texas.  In  that  most  beautiful  region, 
the  Amazon  could  carry  out  her  huntress  fancies. 
She  could  gallop  with  her  Mexican  master  of  the 
horse  over  vast  reaches  of  prairie,  all  her  own.  She 
could  encamp  in  those  belts  of  timber  that  sweep 
like  rivers  across  boundless  plains  of  Western  wild- 
ness.  At  noon,  when  the  deer  she  chased  were  hid 
in  forest  court,  she,  too,  could  seek  such  sylvan 
shelter,  and  lying  there  beneath  an  oak,  all  grey  with 
mossy  drapery,  could  take  delight  of  dreamy  con- 
trast, and,  with  closed  eyes,  narrow  her  horizon  with 
remembered  palaces  and  rebuild  under  broad  blue 
heavens  the  wonderful  domes  of  Italy.  Then  she 
would  study  in  some  shady  pool  of  the  forest  her 
face  nut-browned  to  warm  and  healthy  hues  and 
fancy  Clara,  more  palely  beautiful,  suddenly  appear- 
ing, like  Una  from  the  ancient  grove,  and  standing 
beside  her  at  this  softening  mirror,  as  they  had 
often  stood  in  loving  sisterhood  before.  In  this  ex- 
istence, free  and  fresh,  she  learnt  what  so  few 
women  ever  know,  the  pure  physical  joy  of  living. 

The  Texas  postmaster  was  puzzled  with  strange 
stamps  on  Diana's  constant  letters  from  Europe ;  she 
was  as  constant  in  her  replies.     At  last,  she  had 


n6  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

sadly  to  tell  her  friend  how  her  mother,  after  a  sud- 
den and  fearful  access  of  madness,  had  died.  If 
there  were  any  circumstances  accompanying  this 
death  that  made  it  doubly  painful,  and  if,  far  away 
from  the  civilisation  of  towns,  she  had  made  other 
friends  from  whom  this  death  was  the  cause  of  bitter 
parting,  of  this  she  said  nothing  to  Clara.  There  are 
some  secrets  which  honourable  women  do  not  im- 
part to  anyone  more  distant  from  their  hearts  than 
God.  As  to  Endymion,  it  was  certainly  not  prob- 
able that  she  had  found  him  among  Santa  Fe 
traders,  or  Dutch  emigrants,  or  rude  cattle  drovers 
whose  best  hope  was  a  week  of  debauch  in  San 
Antonio. 

She  rejoined  the  Waddies  and  they  did  Europe. 
Mankind  stared,  and  jealous  women  scoffed  wher- 
ever Clara  and  Diana,  charming  pair,  were  seen. 
Diana  was  in  mourning  and  very  sad — sadder  than 
seemed  wholly  natural  for  her  mother's  relieving 
death.  The  only  gentleman  to  whom  she  allowed 
any  intimacy  was  Belden.  She  told  Miss  Sullivan 
that  she  distrusted  him  and  was  displeased  with  the 
little  she  heard  of  his  deeds,  but  that  he  was  a  bad 
imitation  of  an  old  friend  of  hers  and  she  liked  to  be 
reminded  of  a  favourite,  even  by  a  poor  copy.  I 
think  upon  this  there  must  have  been  some  very  close 
confidence  between  these  ladies ;  there  certainly  was 
a  long  interview,  with  tearfulness. 

Are  the  Waddies  of  New  York  sufficiently  in- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  117 

troduced?  We  certainly  know  them  better  histori- 
cally than  Major  Granby  could,  when,  presented  by 
Ambient,  he  had  passed  his  first  afternoon  in  their 
society.  Not  so  well  personally;  one  look  of  a  prac- 
tised eye  discovers  more  than  all  description  or  all 
history  can  reveal. 

Granby  was  a  wide-worldling  of  the  best  type, 
and  the  ladies  and  Mr.  Waddie  found  him  charming. 
Sir  Com  Ambient,  that  pleasant  pinkling  of  hesi- 
tant utterance,  was  also  a  favourite ;  indeed,  Diana 
had  quite  petted  him  on  the  voyage,  for  she  liked 
travellers,  even  verdant  ones.  Freshmen,  when  they 
are  honest  and  ardent,  are  pleasant  to  meet.  So  she 
had  petted  him — poor  Sir  Com !  He  was  not  at  all 
blase,  a  fresh  and  susceptible  youth ;  and  of  course  he 
lost  his  heart  utterly. 

Granby  spoke  of  his  friend  Ira.  Mr.  Ambassa- 
dor Waddie  had  heard  of  this  gentleman;  in  fact, 
who  had  not? 

"  We  suppose  Mr.  Ira  Waddy  to  belong  to  a 
younger  branch  of  our  somewhat  ancient  family," 
he  explained.  "  Indeed,  I  have  already  written  him 
to  inquire  our  relationship.  We  shall  be  happy  to 
meet  him  as  a  kinsman  and  as  a  friend  of  Major 
Granby.' ' 

The  young  ladies  were  interested  in  the  major's 
account  of  his  friend.  He  was  not,  Granby  said,  a 
misogynist,  though  he  always  avoided  women  if 
he  could.    He  was  a  cynic  of  the  kindest  heart.    Ut- 


1 1 8  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

terly  careless  of  money,  but  possessed  of  a  Pactolian 
genius  for  making  it,  he  dashed  at  a  speculation  as  a 
desperate  man  rides  through  a  front  of  opposing 
battle.  It  seemed  that  he  valued  success  so  little 
that  the  Fates  were  willing  to  give  it  him. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Diana,  "  the  Fates  took  an  an- 
tecedent revenge.  Perhaps  they  are  lavishly  com- 
pensating him  with  what  he  does  not  value  for  the 
fatal  loss  of  what  he  did." 

Granby  looked  hard  at  her,  studying  the  hiero- 
glyphs of  her  expressive  face.  What  experience  had 
this  young  person  had,  enabling  her  to  divine  such 
secrets  of  his  own  life  and  what  he  had  divined  in 
his  friend's  history?  A  sham  Champollion  would 
have  given  his  interpretation  that  she  was  general- 
ising from  some  disappointment  of  the  wrong  man 
and  not  the  right  one  having  offered  her  a  bouquet. 
Granby,  looking  deeper,  perceived  that  to  this 
maiden,  whom  the  gods  loved,  they  had  given  some 
early  sorrow,  which  she  was  endeavouring  to  ex- 
plain to  herself. 

Granby  went  on  with  the  character  of  Mr.  Waddy. 
He  was  a  man  who  concerned  himself  not  much  with 
books.  Having  his  own  thoughts,  he  did  not  hun- 
grily need  those  of  other  men.  He  could  exhaust 
the  books  by  a  question  or  two  from  those  who  took 
the  trouble  to  read  them.  But  if  generally  not  a 
believer  in  the  works  of  men  or  the  words  of 
women,  he  was  a  child  of  nature. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  119 

"  During  the  long  and  excursive  pilgrimage  from 
India  to  London,"  explained  Granby,  "  which  we 
have  made  together,  there  is  hardly  one  oddity,  one 
beauty,  one  fact  or  phenomenon  in  nature,  not  hu- 
man, that  we  have  not  investigated.  We've  shot 
and  bagged  everything;  we've  fished  and  fished  up 
everything." 

And  then,  the  major,  who  liked  to  talk — and  who 
does  not? — to  beautiful  women,  told  them  snake 
stories  and  tales  of  crocodiles,  and  how,  in  the  pri- 
mary sense,  he  and  his  friend  had  seen  the  elephant 
and  fought  the  tiger.  Then  he  passed  to  the  Crimean 
campaign,  where  Mr.  Waddy  had  joined  him  and 
gone  about  recklessly  to  see  the  fun  of  fighting  and 
relieve  its  after  agony.  On  the  side  of  fun,  there 
was  a  story  how  Mr.  Waddy  and  Chin  Chin  had  sur- 
rounded a  picket-guard  of  a  Russian  officer  and 
four  men  and  brought  them  in  prisoners  at  the  point 
of  their  own  bayonets — a  pardonable  violation  of 
the  neutrality  laws.  On  the  other  side,  was  the  ac- 
count of  Major  Granby's  own  rescue  by  his  friend. 
Granby  told  this  last  with  an  enthusiasm  that 
showed  the  earnestness  of  his  friendship. 

The  two  girls,  who  would  have  given  up  life  or  a 
lover,  one  for  the  other,  felt  a  romantic  interest  in 
the  alliance  of  these  men,  both  apparently  isolated, 
and  erratic  for  some  good  cause  from  tranquil  hap- 
piness. Diana's  interest  was  that  of  a  comrade  in 
these  adventures;  Clara's  was  an  almost  timorous 


120  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

sympathy.  Ambient  listened  and  blushed  pinker 
with  excitement.  He  was  a  little  cut  out  by  a  man 
who  had  done  what  he  only  hoped  to  do;  but  Sir 
Com  was  a  good  fellow,  and  while  the  first  fiddle 
played,  he  put  up  his  pipe  of  tender  wild  oat  in  its 
verdant  case  and  applauded  the  solo  heartily. 

By  Mr.  Waddie's  invitation,  Granby  and  Am- 
bient joined  his  party  at  the  Tremont  House.  The 
ladies  also  suggested  Newport,  whither  they  were 
all  going.  Granby  mentioned  his  half -engagement 
with  Mr.  Waddy  to  drop  in  at  that  watering-place 
on  their  tour,  and  said  that  the  pleasure  of  their  so- 
ciety, etc.,  etc.  In  short,  if  he  could  persuade  his 
friend,  they  would  drop  in,  and  "  we'll  give  you  a 
plunge,  too,  Ambient,"  he  promised. 

This  conversation  took  place  at  the  breakfast 
table,  the  morning  after  they  landed.  The  ladies 
presently  disappeared  and,  when  they  reappeared, 
were  resplendent  with  results  of  unpacking.  The 
proud  and  brilliant  Diana  was  still  in  half-mourn- 
ing. I  think  this  Amazon  must  have  beheld  Clara's 
loveliness  with  almost  masculine  admiration  and 
have  expressed  it  with  manly  compliments,  for  Clara 
seemed  a  little  conscious  as  they  stepped  into  a  car- 
riage, not  quick  enough  to  avoid  the  two  gentlemen. 
These  knightly  squires  were  eager  for  a  glimpse  at 
brightened  beauty.  Granby  assumed  the  privilege  of 
handing  them  into  their  go-cart,  while  the  humbler 
Ambient  defended  skirt  from  wheel. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  121 

"  We  are  going,"  said  Diana,  "  to  pass  the  morn- 
ing with  our  friend,  Miss  Sullivan,  in  the  country." 

"  Adieu  the  eagle  and  the  swan!  "  cried  Granby, 
as  they  drove  off.  "By  Imperial  Jove!  Ambient, 
she  is  worthy  to  be  the  consort  of  a  god.  If  I  was 
ambitious,  as  you  are,  I  should  aspire  as  you  do  and 
as  much  in  vain.  I  suppose  this  is  your  first  love,  eh  ? 
You're  luckier  than  most  men.  A  man's  first  is 
generally  either  a  grandmotherly  old  flirt  become 
devote,  or  some  bread-and-butter,  sweet  simplicity, 
— oh,  bah !  " 

"  Lucky!  "  echoed  Ambient.  "  I'm  confoundedly 
unlucky  and  unhappy.  She'll  never  have  anything 
to  say  to  me — except  in  that  infernal  condescending 
de  limit  en  bas  style,  as  if  I  was  a  boy.  I'd  like  to 
pwove  it  on  somebody  that  I'm  not !  "  and  Sir  Com 
looked  around  with  a  quite  fierce  expression  upon 
his  pleasant  countenance. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  at  all  sorry  for  you,"  said  Granby 
cheerfully.  "  It  never  does  anyone  any  harm  to  be 
desperately  in  love  with  a  woman  who  is  worthy. 
You  may  be  sure  that  Diana  will  never  flirt  with 
you." 

"  She  fluriot ! — she  would  never  care  enough  for 
anyone's  admiration  to  twy  to  gain  it.  I  only  wish 
she  would  fluriot  with  me ;  then  I  could  be  angwy — 
now  I'm  only  wetched." 

"  It  will  not  help  you  to  know  that  everybody  must 
go  through  it,"  said  Granby,  his  face  grave  again — 


122  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

even  a  little  bitter.  "  I  have,  my  dear  fellow — -and 
worse.  For  my  part,  I  admire  the  goddess  im- 
mensely ;  but  I  think  I  could  love  her  friend  more — 
that  heavenly  mildness  gently  soothes  my  soul.  The 
nose,"  continued  the  major,  waxing  eloquent,  "  is 
man's  most  available  feature — it  may  be  tweaked. 
The  mouth  in  woman  is  delicately  expressive  and 
available  when  we  are  allowed  to  " — and  he  raised 
his  fingers  with  courteous  reverence  to  his  lips. 
"  But  the  mouth  is  external  merely.  Who  wishes  to 
look  down  it,  even  though  heart  may  be  in  throat 
and  panting  at  the  parted  lips  ?  It  is  the  eyes — eyes 
like  Clara's,  where  there  is  soul  beneath  the  surface 
and  down  in  the  deep  profound  of  those  wells  of 
lightsome  lustre  is  truth — these  we  may  dreamily 
gaze  in  for  life-long  peacefulness." 

Ambient  stared  at  this  rhapsody,  not  quite  certain 
whether  his  companion  was  in  earnest.  But  before 
he  could  decide,  a  carriage  drove  up,  and  Granby 
gave  a  distant  view-halloo  as  Mr.  Waddy  stepped 
out. 

"  Punctual  to  a  tick,"  said  Ira,  holding  up  his 
watch  and  producing  the  rhinoceros-horn  match-box 
and  his  case  of  cheroots. 

Granby  took  one,  presented  Sir  Com,  and  they  en- 
tered the  hotel  together. 

Horace  Belden  was  out  that  morning  exercising 
his  race-horse    Knockknees.     As  he  descended  the 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  123 

same  slope  where  he  had  fouled  with  Tootler's 
buggy,  he  saw  approaching  a  carriage  with  two  la- 
dies. He  recognised  them  instantly,  with  a  leap  of 
the  heart.  He  drew  up  by  their  side  with  polite  com- 
monplaces of  welcome,  dashed  with  more  meaning 
when  he  addressed  Diana.  They  told  him  whence 
and  whither — to-day  to  Miss  Sullivan,  to-morrow 
to  Newport. 

"  How  can  you  like  that  man?  "  asked  Clara,  as 
they  drove  on.    "  He  seems  to  me  a  Sansfoy." 

"  I  do  not  like  or  trust  him,"  replied  Diana.  "  I 
tolerate  him  because  he  rides  well  and  is  agreeable, 
and  because  he  reminds  me  of  an  old  friend." 

She  stooped  to  pick  up  a  broken-winged  butterfly 
that  had  fluttered  feebly  into  the  carriage.  Stoop- 
ing sent  the  blood  into  her  face.  While  they  cher- 
ished the  poor  insect,  she  grew  of  a  sudden  deadly 
pale,  and  putting  her  hand  to  her  side,  shuddered 
slightly.  Clara  did  not  observe  the  motion,  which 
was  not  repeated. 

There  is  no  need  to  describe  the  meeting  between 
pupils  and  preceptress ;  but  in  the  late  twilight  Clara 
returned  without  Diana,  who  had  consented  to  stay 
a  day  or  two  with  Miss  Sullivan.  She  wished  to 
keep  both  the  friends,  but  Mrs.  Waddie  would  need 
her  daughter  in  arranging  their  house. 

Mr.  Ira  Waddy  lionised  Boston  with  Granby  and 
Ambient.  They  looked  in  for  a  moment  on  Mr. 
Tootler.     He  was  composing  an  air  to  a  Fremont 


124  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

song  which  he  had  just  written,  and  which  Mrs. 
Tootler  would  revise — and  perhaps  infuse  with  even 
sharper  ginger.  He  played  it  for  them  on  the  flute. 
Sir  Com  listened  with  astonishment.  Mr.  Tootler 
figures  in  the  chapter  entitled,  "  An  Hour  with  a 
Musical  Wool-Merchant,"  in  that  young  gentleman's 
book,  "  Pork  and  Beans ;  or,  Tracks  in  the  Trail  of 
the  Bear  and  the  Buffalo." 

In  the  evening,  Waddy  and  Waddie  became  ac- 
quainted. The  ambassador  accepted  the  relation- 
ship, which  was  now  fully  established  by  relics  and 
traditions.  The  Great  Tradition,  however,  of  the 
Mayfloiver,  the  caboose,  Miles  Standish,  the  pepper- 
pot — this  he  laughed  at  as  legendary.  Ira  clung  to  it 
vigorously;  he  liked  to  have  come  in  with  the  Pil- 
grims, even  at  the  expense  of  humble  ancestry  and 
an  inherited  curse. 

The  serene  Waddie,  whose  life  was  happy  gentle- 
ness, whose  toil  had  been  done  for  him  by  fortune 
and  by  feminine  energy,  had  no  occasion  to  look  to 
the  past  for  causes  of  present  exasperating  charac- 
teristics. He  had  inherited  the  family  mildness,  and 
though  he  decorated  his  social  station,  he  was  not 
one  to  have  assumed  it.  He  acknowledged  his  obli- 
gations to  his  wife.  He  had  thus  ignorantly  fulfilled 
the  destiny  of  his  race. 

Clara  gave  the  legend  her  full  adhesion ;  but  noth- 
ing was  said  in  this  conclave  of  the  Tory  sutler,  or 
the  Revolutionary  sergeant. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  125 

Diana  was  missed,  but  the  name  of  her  hostess 
was  not  mentioned.  There  was  no  reason  why  Miss 
Sullivan  should  be  talked  of  among  strangers;  no 
one  knew  of  that  incident  of  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 
where  she  had  appeared  and  played  so  important  a 
part,  nor  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  see  and  thank 
his  preserver. 

In  the  morning,  the  whole  party  went  to  New- 
port. Thither  all  the  actors  of  our  drama  are  center- 
ing. It  is  strange  by  what  delicate  links  of  influence 
life  is  bound  to  life — what  chances  of  seemingly 
casual  meetings  and  partings  determine  history! 

Pallid  went  with  his  master ;  also  a  fast  pair,  that 
Tootler  had  purchased  for  Mr.  Waddy,  who  meant 
to  be  both  charioteer  and  cavalier. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PROTECTIVE    SCANDALS   AND   OTHER  DIVERTING   HU- 
MOURS   OF   A    FASHIONABLE    WATERING-PLACE 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  by  a  chance  of  history,  a 
small  man  was  thrust  into  greatness  of  place. 

Moulded  in  putty  for  a  niche,  he  tottered  and 
crumbled  on  a  pedestal. 

This  pedestalled  weakling,  small  in  his  great 
place,  prayed  for  support.  He  got  it  on  conditions — 
rather  shabby  ones.  He  was  to  acknowledge  himself 
frightened,  his  niche  in  life  a  mistake.  He  was  to 
deny  his  old  views  of  right,  and  compromise  away 
right  for  a  novel  view  of  ancient  wrong. 

When  time  came  that  he  should  remove,  he  was 
willing  to  stay  and  be  a  dough  image  in  a  high 
place ;  but  a  grateful  people  of  a  grateful  republic 
did  not  invite  him. 

At  another  time,  a  grateful  people  rather  scorn- 
fully declined  him  a  re-invitation  to  the  old  place, 
though  he  prayed  it  in  suppliant  guise. 

But  a  grateful  people  did  as  much  as  could  be  ex- 
pected; they  built  a  great  hotel  at  Newport  and 
named  it  by  his  name.  It  still  lives,  and  its  name  is 
"  The  Millard." 

What  they  call  the  odour  of  respectability  that 
126 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  127 

hangs  about  an  old  institution  is  not  always  fra- 
grance when  that  institution  is  a  hotel.  There,  most 
people  prefer  the  odour  of  new  paint.  So  it  was 
with  our  dramatis  personam  They  chose  the  Mil- 
lard, not  from  sympathy  with  its  name,  but  with  its 
newness. 

Mr.  Waddy  preferred  going  with  Granby  and 
Ambient,  whom  they  had  adopted,  to  abandoning 
these  friends  and  accepting  the  invitation  of  his 
ambassador  kinsman.  So  these  three  gentlemen 
inscribed  themselves  upon  the  books  of  the  Mil- 
lard. 

Miss  Arabella  Budlong  had  just  returned  from 
her  bath.  She  was  in  the  hair  and  costume  of  La 
Sonnambula  in  the  bridge  scene,  and  it  was  a  little 
dangerous,  her  rush  to  the  window  to  inspect  the 
companions  of  Mr.  Waddy.  She  might  have  been 
seen — in  fact,  she  was  seen,  but  not  recognised,  by 
Peter  Skerrett,  who  had  arrived  that  morning.  He 
called  Gyas  Cutus  and  told  him  to  look  at  Venus 
Anadyomene,  drying  herself  in  the  sun. 

"  Anna  who  ?  "  asked  Gyas.  "  That's  Belle  Bud. 
She's  always  drying  at  this  hour,  and  I  believe 
doesn't  care  who  knows  it.  I  say,  Peter,  who 
are  those  chaps  just  come  in?  You  know  every- 
body before  he  is  born.  A  very  neat  lot  they 
are." 

"  That  brown  one  with  the  cheroot  is  Ira  Waddy," 
replied  Peter,  "  the  partner  of  the  great  East  Indian 


128  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

banker,  Jimsitchy  Jibbybohoy.  The  big  man  is  the 
Grand  Duke  Constantine,  come  over  to  study  our  in- 
stitutions, republican  and  peculiar,  with  a  view  to 
the  emancipation  of  serfs.  Number  three  is  the 
eldest  hope  of  the  Pope." 

"Gaaz!"  said  Gyas,  with  indescribable  intona- 
tion.   "  The  Pope  don't  have  eldest  sons." 

"  I  would  be  willing  to  have  him  the  old  gentle- 
man's youngest  to  please  you,"  replied  Peter,  "  but 
historic  truth  is  a  grave  thing.  Apropos  of  boots 
and  kicking,  I  significantly  advise  you  not  to  call 
that  young  lady  Belle  Bud  any  more." 

Misses  Julia  Wilkes  and  Milly  Center  were  in  the 
Millard  parlour  with  Cloanthus  Fortisque  and  Billy 
Dulger.  They  saw  the  stranger  gentlemen  arrive, 
and  Milly  felt  her  volage  little  heart  expand  toward 
Ambient,  that  rosebud  of  Albion.  She  had  a  lively 
imagination  for  flirtations  and  immediately  built  an 
ideal  vista  with  a  finale  of  a  kneeling  scene,  Am- 
bient, in  tears,  offering  his  heart  and  a  dukedom. 
She  was  not  quite  decided  whether  to  raise  him  from 
his  entrancement  by  a  tap  of  fan,  as  wand,  or  to 
leave  him  in  that  comical  position  and  call  in  a 
friend  to  witness  her  disdained  triumph. 

"  Go,  Mr.  Dulger,"  said  Milly,  with  the  despotism 
of  a  miss  in  her  position,  "  and  find  out  who  they  are 
— particularly  that  handsome  young  man  in  the  cu- 
rious coat,  lovely  complexion,  and  mutton-chops. 
He  looks  so  sweet." 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  129 

Poor  Dulger,  compelled  to  prepare  the  way  for  a 
possible  rival,  went  off  savagely. 

"  I'll  make  her  pay  for  all  this  sometime,"  he  mur- 
mured, with  clenched  fists. 

Dulger  was  fast  getting  desperate.  He  had  been 
with  this  young  fair  one  a  centripetal  dangler  or 
gyroscope  for  years.  Milly  had  taken  his  bouquets 
all  her  winters,  without  regard  to  expense.  But 
other  bouquets  she  had  likewise  taken,  to  the  dismay 
of  his  faithful  heart.  When  cleverer  men,  or  bigger 
men,  or  men  with  more  regular  features  or  less 
sporadic  moustache,  came,  yielding  to  Miss  Milly's 
seducing  attentions, — and  she  was  not  chary  of 
them, — poor  Dulger  sat  in  the  background,  looking 
at  his  tightish  new  boots,  and  bit  his  thumb  at  these 
cleverer,  bigger,  handsomer.  He  could  not  under- 
stand the  world-wide  discursiveness  of  the  clever 
men,  nor  in  truth,  did  Milly,  but  she  had  tact  enough 
to  see  when  her  locutor  thought  he  had  said  a  witty 
thing,  and  then  she  could  give  a  pretty  laugh;  or 
when  it  was  a  poetical,  sentimental  thing,  she  could 
look  down  and  softly  sigh.  A  man  must  have  flat- 
tery for  his  vanity  as  much  as  sugar  for  his  coffee, 
and  Milly  was  very  liberal  of  that  sweet  condiment. 
Her  charm  lasted  with  the  clever  men  days,  weeks, 
months,  according  to  their  necessities  for  unintelli- 
gent flattering  sympathy  and  the  frequency  of  their 
interviews. 

Billy  Dulger  had  seen  so  many  generations  of  such 


130  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

lovers  come  and  go,  more  or  less  voluntarily,  that  he 
began  to  feel  a  pre-emptive,  prescriptive,  or  squatter 
sovereign  right  to  the  premises ;  for  there  were  prem- 
ises, as  well  as  a  person — a  house  where  one  might 
willingly  hang  his  hat.  Miss  Milly  was  an  orphan 
and  had  a  house — nay,  many  Houses — of  her  own. 
Her  lover  was  proceeding  in  the  established  manner 
of  courtship  by  regular  approaches  and  steady 
siege.  It  generally  succeeds,  this  method,  and  is, 
after  all,  easier  to  the  dangling  man  of  no  genius  and 
safer  than  the  bold  assault  of  a  hardy  forlorn  hope. 
So  many  campaigns — such  constant  cannonade  of 
bouquets  with  great  occasional  bombardment  of 
flower-baskets — missives  proposing  truce — shams  of 
raising  the  siege — showers  of  Congreve  rockets  in 
the  form  of  cornucopias  of  bonbons — parleys  of  no 
actual  consequence  effected  by  sympathising  allies — 
cautious  spying  with  lorgnette,  followed  by  assault 
upon  opera  box — watchful  pouncings  when  the  gar- 
rison sallies  forth  for  stores — patience,  pertinacity, 
and  final  success :  this  was  Mr.  Dulger's  game.  It 
was,  however,  no  sport  to  him.  It  cannot  be  sweet 
for  a  man  to  be  forever  in  the  presence  of  a  woman 
he  loves  or  wants,  he  playing  the  triangle  while  a 
gran'  maestro  is  leading  at  the  apex  of  the  orchestra. 
He  cannot  enjoy  hearing  her  applaud  another  man 
for  saying  things  he  cannot  possibly  think  of  and 
does  not  quite  understand.  Billy,  therefore,  was  not 
happy  in  his  courtship.     He  knew  his  love  was  a 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  131 

flirt,  and  not  particularly  charming,  except  that  she 
made  a  business  of  being  so.  But  it  had  become  with 
him  a  vice  to  love  her,  if  such  is  love.  Should  he 
ever  succeed,  after  his  ages  of  suspensory  dangling, 
he  will  not  be  brilliantly  happy.  This  is  experience 
which  he  will  remember,  and  though  a  well-enough 
intentioned  man,  he  will  necessarily  avenge  with 
marital  severities  his  ante-nuptial  pains. 

Have  we  dallied  too  long  with  Miss  Milly  and 
Master  William?  They  are  essentials  in  this  his- 
tory, and,  though  casually  as  it  would  seem,  yet  on 
them  depends  its  event. 

As  Mr.  Waddy  turned  after  booking  himself  at  the 
Millard,  he  found  his  hand  suddenly  seized  by  Mr. 
De  Flournoy  Budlong.  The  bloom  on  this  gentle- 
man's cheeks  had  jaundiced  to  autumnal  hues.  His 
smooth,  round,  jolly  face  had  shrunken  and  was 
veined  with  dry  wrinkles  like  a  frozen  apple.  Poor 
Bud,  flowering  no  longer,  seediness  was  overcoming 
him,  to  no  one's  special  wonder  who  saw  the  princi- 
pal female  of  his  family  conducting  herself  very 
much  indeed,  and  watched  young  Tim  subscribing 
every  night. 

"  Glad  you've  come,"  said  Budlong,  with  unhappy 
cordiality.  "  I  got  here  this  morning.  Peter  Sker- 
rett  said  it  was  time  for  me  to  be  on  hand  and  gave 
me  half  his  stateroom.  Seasick  all  night;  yes,  sir, 
every  minute.  Peter  says  juicy  men  always  are. 
Deuced  rough  off  P'int  Judith.     Peter  said  it  was 


132  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

the  story  in  the  Apocalypse,  Judith,  and  whole  in- 
fernos. Found  Tim  with  his  head  very  much 
swelled.  Bad  cold,  he  said.  I  told  him  he'd  better 
stay  in  bed.  He  said  he  would  till  evening — had  a 
small  subscription  party  at  nine.  Asked  him  to  take 
me — he  said  strangers  had  to  be  balloted  for  once 
a  week  for  three  weeks.  I'm  afraid  it's  all  poppy- 
cock. Mrs.  B.  has  gone  out  to  walk  with  that  blasted 
Frenchman.     Ah,  here  she  comes  now." 

Mrs.  Budlong  entered  with  Auguste  Henri.  She 
dismissed  her  escort  with  a  whisper  and  walked  up 
to  her  husband,  very  handsome,  very  well  dressed, 
perfectly  at  her  ease,  and  gave  him  two  fingers  of 
the  hand  which  held  her  parasol. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  pa  ?  "  said  she.  "  You've  left  us  to 
take  care  of  ourselves  so  long  that  we  thought  you'd 
forgotten  us.  I'm  sorry  you  didn't  let  me  know  you 
were  coming;  you  could  have  brought  up  another 
horse  instead  of  Drummer." 

"  What's  happened  to  him  ?  He's  my  best  horse," 
said  the  husband  thus  tenderly  received  as  master 
of  the  cavalry. 

"  De  Chateauneant  was  riding  him,  and  that  rude 
young  Dunstan,  driving  the  Wellabouts,  ran  into 
him.  Drummer  was  badly  cut  and  Aug — De 
Chateauneant  had  his — his  clothes  torn.  He  intends 
to  punish  Dunstan,  who  was  very  insolent." 

"  I  hope  he  will,"  said  De  Flournoy,  rubbing  his 
hands  and  brightening  up.    "  I  should  like  to  see  the 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  133 

beggar  well  thrashed  " — of  course  it  was  Dunstan 
he  meant. 

Mrs.  De  Flournoy  had  been  quite  conscious  of 
Waddy's  presence  during  this  colloquy.  Waddy 
was  a  man  whom  she  was  willing  to  propitiate.  She 
had  even  tried  her  fascinations  on  him  early  in  the 
voyage — merely  in  the  way  of  a  flirtation,  of  course. 
But  Ira  was  loyal,  though  not  pretending  to  be  a 
saint,  and  remained  impervious  to  the  darts  which 
Mrs.  B.  shot  at  him  from  her  expressive  eyes.  To 
Ira,  therefore,  Mrs.  B.  now  turned,  bowed  grace- 
fully and  smiled  pleasantly.  She  had  the  spoiling  of 
a  very  fine  woman  in  her. 

"  We  were  sorry  to  be  deprived  of  your  society  on 
board,"  said  she,  with  easy  suavity,  "  even  for  so 
heroic  a  reason.  We  were  hardly  willing  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Tim  Budlong  after  his  abandoning  you.  But 
he  is  so  aristocratic.  He  said  he  thought  the  little 
beggar  might  as  well  drown.  We,  of  course,  did  not 
think  so.  I  hope  to  see  you  often  while  you  are  here. 
We  will  study  American  society  together.  One  of 
the  charms  of  hotel  life  is  that  we  can  see  our  friends 
so  constantly  and  familiarly  and  form  agreeable  in- 
timacies." 

All  this  was  said  in  Mrs.  De  Flournoy's  most 
gracious  manner  to  Mr.  Waddy,  and  at  him  and  his 
friends.  She  was  determined  to  make  a  good  im- 
pression— excessively  determined,  unfortunately. 
She  wished  to  signalise  her  first  summer  after  Eu- 


134  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

rope  by  great  social  triumphs  and  courted  everybody, 
except  those  whom  she  could  venture  to  contemn. 
Still,  men  at  a  watering-place  are  not  disposed  to  re- 
ject the  advances  of  pretty  women,  and  Waddy 
would  have  been  placable,  but  that  he  did  not  care 
for  intimacy  with  a  person  who  could  accept  De 
Chateauneant  as  cicisbeo,  or  even  acquaintance.  He 
could  not  forget  signs  of  a  complete  understanding 
he  had  detected  between  him  and  the  lady.  How- 
ever, Waddy  said  the  civil  nothings  and  Mrs.  Bud- 
long  went  upstairs,  followed  humbly  by  poor  old 
Bud. 

Peter  Skerrett  calls  the  stair  at  the  Millard 
"  Jacob's  Ladder,"  because,  says  he,  "  the  angels  who 
have  good  tops  to  their  ankles  are  continually  as- 
cending and  descending."  Up  Jacob's  Ladder,  then, 
Mr.  Waddy  and  his  friends  presently  marched  to 
their  rooms. 

When  the  trio,  after  their  toilet,  descended,  they 
found  the  hall  lined  with  people  awaiting  dinner. 
Peter  Skerrett  stepped  up  to  greet  Mr.  Waddy. 

"  Come,  Peter,"  said  the  young  nabob,  introduc- 
ing his  friends,  "  sit  down  and  tell  us  what  you  call 
the  protective  scandals.  We  are  all  green  at  New- 
port." 

"  That  is  a  new  expwession  to  me,"  said  Sir  Com, 
gaspingly  as  usual.  "  Pwotective  scandals — what 
does  it  mean?  " 

"  Strangers,"  explained  Peter    oracularly,   "  be- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  135 

fore  they  are  up  to  trap,  are  apt  to  put  their  foot  in 
it.  They  need  someone  to  inform  them  who  are 
the  people  they  must  know,  whom  they  may  know, 
whom  they  may  know  under  penalties,  and  whom 
they  must  not  know.  They  need  also  a  general  guide 
to  conversation — to  know  to  whom  they  shall  say, 
*  Man  is  the  architect  of  his  own  fortunes,'  and  to 
whom,  '  It  is  a  noble  thing  to  be  descended  from  a 
long  line  of  proud  and  noble  ancestors.' ' 

"  Must  we  learn  the  pedigwee  of  evewybody 
here?"  demanded  Ambient,  in  consternation.  "I 
shall  have  to  cwam  like  a  fellow  going  up  for  his 
gweat  go." 

"  Ah,  there  you've  hit  it,"  replied  Peter.  "  The 
actual  pedigrees  are  almost  none,  thanks  to  republi- 
can institutions.  Except  a  very  few  families,  who 
have  managed  to  hold  together  and  keep  pelf  to  their 
names,  there  are  no  pedigrees  to  remember.  As  a 
Nation,  we  have  buried  our  grandfather.  Parent- 
age only  of  everyone  is  what  you  must  know.  We 
are  a  religious  people,"  and  he  turned  his  eyes  up- 
ward whither  the  ceiling  was  between  him  and 
heaven,  and  motioned  as  if  to  cross  himself.  "  Yes, 
fervently  religious,  and  have  read  in  Holy  Writ  that 
labour  was  a  curse.  We  have  agreed  that  it  ought 
to  be  expunged.  But  as  it  is  almost  impossible  in 
general  powwow  to  avoid  alluding  to  some  trade  or 
business,  the  great  protective  scandal  is  to  know  the 
individual   one   not   to   mention   to   each   of  these 


136  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

people.  They  do  not  wish  to  be  reminded  by  what 
especial  class  of  curse  their  papas  were  made  miser- 
able and  millionaire. 

"  For  example,"  continued  Peter,  delighted  to 
have  the  floor  and  so  select  an  audience,  "  that  rather 
long  girl,  walking  with  a  racehorse  stride,  is  Miss 
Peytona  Fashion.  Her  parent  began  his  fortune  by 
betting  against  his  own  horse.  It  would  be  deemed 
uncivil  if  you,  Sir  Comeguys,  should  stand  before 
her,  and  with  a  whiff  at  her  circumambient  atmos- 
phere of  odours,  should  ask  her  if  her  favourite  per- 
fume was  Jockey  Club. 

"  So  there  is  hardly  one  subject  that  is  not  taboo 
with  someone.  Mrs.  De  Flournoy  Budlong  loves 
not  to  hear  of  flowery  meads  or  breakfast  called  a 
meal — it  seems  to  let  the  cat  out  the  bag.  Old  Flir- 
ney,  you  know,  began  as  a  deck-hand  on  a  barrel- 
barge,  and  has,  turned  to  the  wall  in  a  lock-up  in  his 
garret,  a  portrait  of  himself  shouldering  a  cask  of 
flour ;  that  portrait  is  her  closet  skeleton. 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  have  spotted  the  Southern  belle," 
added  he  to  Ambient,  who  was  gazing  at  a  dark, 
luxurious  beauty  opposite  him. 

"  Spotted  her ! "  echoed  the  youth,  blushing 
pinkly.     "  I  wouldn't  do  it  for  the  wowuld." 

"  Oh,  I  mean  remarked  her.  You'll  learn  the  lan- 
guage by-and-by.  You're  looking  at  her  foot — 
that's  the  pretty  one;  the  other's  enlarged  in  the 
joint  by  dancing.     Well,  that  is  Miss  Saccharissa 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  137 

Mellasys,  the  creole  belle  from  Louisiana.     You're 
an  abolitionist,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  Englishman:  "isn't  evewyone 
who  has  no  pecuniawy  intewest  in  slavewy?" 

"  Of  course/'  replied  Peter,  "  more  or  less  so. 
But  beware  of  talking  anti-slavery  to  Miss  Mel- 
lasys. You'll  bring  an  unhandsome  look  into  those 
tranquil  eyes.  She's  here  on  the  proceeds  of  one  of 
her  half-sisters.  Success  of  abolitionism  would 
knock  off  her  summer  trips  to  civilisation,  and  she 
knows  that  her  amiable  papa  wouldn't  hesitate  to 
sell  her,  as  he  does  the  scions  of  his  dusky  brood, 
without  too  much  inquiry  as  to  the  purpose." 

"  You  call  this  a  democratic  republic,  I  believe," 
said  Granby. 

"  Tis  the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 
brave!  "  cried  Peter,  waving  his  hat.  "  Pardon  this 
ebullition  of  national  pride.  I'm  getting  up  my  en- 
thusiasm for  a  presidential  stumping  tour  this  fall. 
Well,  Saccharissa  is  very  pretty.  I'm  told  they  cul- 
tivate that  startled  expression  of  the  eyes  at  the 
South  by  placing  the  girls,  when  they're  infants,  on 
the  edge  of  a  bayou ;  the  alligators  come  and  snap 
at  them,  but  the  nurse  runs  them  off  just  in  time." 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  make  a  note  of  that  cus- 
tom?" asked  Ambient,  who  had  listened  open- 
mouthed. 

"  Certainly,"  assented  Peter  graciously,  "  and  I 
can  tell  you  more  of  the  same  sort,  if  you  wish,"  but 


138  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

the  sound  of  the  dinner-gong  prevented  further  re- 
citals. 

Tim  Budlong  appeared  at  dinner,  all  beauteous 
with  raiment,  but  looking  desperately  roue.  He 
had,  too,  the  peculiarly  anxious  look  of  an  ama- 
teur subscriber,  so  different  from  the  cautious 
carelessness  of  the  professional  receiver  of  sub- 
scriptions. 

Tim  was  disposed  to  dodge  Mr.  Waddy ;  but  Ira 
had  no  quarrel  with  the  hopeful  youth,  who  had  in 
the  Halifax  affair  only  done  as  most  men  do.  It  is 
not  worth  while,  as  Mr.  Waddy  knew,  to  be  per- 
manently disgusted  with  human  beings  for  acting  ac- 
cording to  their  natures;  he  knew  that  character  is 
a  compound  of  blood,  breeding,  and  experience.  So 
he  gave  Tim  a  glass  of  claret  and  said  "  Pax  vobis- 
cum,  my  lad !  "  very  kindly. 

Tim,  pleased  with  the  patronage  of  the  distin- 
guished stranger,  who,  with  his  two  friends,  and 
Chin  Chin  behind  his  chair,  was  an  object  of  gaze  at 
the  Millard — Tim,  elated  by  such  good  society,  for 
twenty  minutes  resolved  to  reform.  At  the  twenty- 
first  minute,  he  caught  a  wink  from  Gyas  Cutus,  and 
with  a  knowing  crook  of  the  elbow,  turned  off  his 
glass  of  what  Millard  called  champagne  and  became 
a  reprobate  again. 

After  dinner,  Peter  Skerrett  was  besieged  by  spec- 
ulators for  information.  "  Who  are  your  friends?  " 
was  the  cry  of  many  a  hopeful  mother.    Peter  forgot 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  139 

his  previous  story  and  now  asserted  that  they  were 
Caspar,  Melchior,  and  Balthazar,  the  Three  Kings 
of  Cologne.  Peter  was  fond  of  mystification.  But 
the  hotel  books  and  the  Budlongs  gave  more  au- 
thentic accounts.  Henceforth  patrols  of  marriage- 
able daughters  were  about  Ira's  path;  but  we  shall 
regard  them  no  more  than  did  he. 

De  Chateauneant,  swaggering  up  the  hall  before 
dinner,  had  seen  Sir  Comeguys.  He  seemed  to 
recognise  and  desire  to  avoid  him,  and  had  kept  out 
of  the  way  carefully.  Miss  Arabella  was  therefore 
solitary,  as  old  Bud  adhered  to  his  wife,  which,  per- 
haps, accounted  for  the  fact  that  she  was  not  blos- 
soming so  luxuriantly  as  usual. 

"  Miss  Arabella  is  not  a  bad  girl,"  remarked  Peter 
Skerrett  to  Waddy  at  dinner.  "  The  mother — 
such  a  mother! — is  ruining  her,  as  she  has  already 
spoiled  poor  Tim.  I  abhor  that  woman."  Peter 
was  usually  very  cool  and  non-committal,  but  he 
grew  quite  excited  at  this  moment.  Look  now  at 
her  ctalage/'  he  continued,  referring  to  her  low- 
neck.  "  What  fun  it  is — a  watering-place !  I'm 
so  romantic  that  I  have  to  come  here  every  year  for 
a  week  to  be  taken  down.  I  should  positively  be 
falling  in  love  with  women  if  I  didn't  see  them  here 
occasionally." 

"  Why  not  stay  away  and  be  romantic  near  cot- 
tages rose-embowered?"  suggested  Waddy.  "The 
damsels  who  trim  the  roses  are  fresh  as  they  are 


140  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

pure — what  these  others  are  doesn't  in  the  least 
matter." 

"  Gammon !  Pardon  me,"  said  Peter  quickly. 
"  That  observation  was  addressed  to  the  waiter — 
ham,  I  meant.  Can  a  man  like  myself  seek  his  love 
among  hollyhocks  and  marigolds?  Really,  what- 
ever I  may  say,  I'm  not  quite  spoony  enough  for 
female  society,  except  when  the  band  is  playing 
melting  strains  of  passionate  despair  from  some 
Italian  opera,  and  I  am  far  enough  distant  there- 
from not  to  observe  false  notes  and  brassiness." 

"  You  seem  to  be  sentimental  now,"  said  Waddy, 
smiling.  "  Who  is  it?  Can  it  be  Miss  Arabella?  I 
am  interested  there,  too,  in  a  godfatherly  way.  I 
will  help  you  to  lynch  hot  nubbless,  as  Mr.  Bud- 
long  calls  him.    What  do  you  say?  " 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Peter,  his  cheeks  somewhat 
unnaturally  bright.  "  He'll  take  himself  off  when 
he's  won  all  he  can  from  Tim  and  the  other  boys, 
unless  he  can  marry  some  of  the  girls — and  then,  as 
Squire  Western  says,  one  would  hate  like  the  deuce 
to  be  hanged  for  such  a  rascal.  I  don't  believe  Miss 
Arabella  would  allow  him  so  much  about  her,  if  it 
were  not  for  her  stepmother.  I  think  the  infernal 
blackleg  has  the  mother  in  his  power  and  she  intends 
to  sacrifice  the  daughter  to  save  herself ! "  and 
Peter  took  a  draught  of  ice-water,  against  his  bet- 
ter judgment,  for  he  was  growing  quite  unnaturally 
heated. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  141 

"Peter!  Peter!"  protested  Waddy,  "I'd  be 
afraid  your  imagination  had  become  perverted  by 
dealing  so  much  with  the  protective  scandals — but 
I'd  come  nearly  to  the  same  conclusion  myself.  I 
saw  too  much  on  board  the  steamer.  I  said  all  I 
could  to  old  Bud." 

It  was  on  account  of  this  conversation  that  Mr. 
Waddy,  seeing  Miss  Arabella  alone  after  dinner, 
joined  her  and  chatted  a  while.  Mr.  Waddy,  though 
he  allows  himself  to  swear  in  several  distant  lan- 
guages, and  is  altogether  perfectly  independent  in 
his  conduct,  will,  I  hope,  already  have  shown  himself 
a  man  of  refinement  in  feeling  and  manner.  Women 
have  tact  enough  to  adapt  themselves  to  such  men 
and  often  humbug  them  for  a  time.  Miss  De  Flour- 
noy's  altered  manner,  as  she  promenaded  with  Ira, 
was  not  humbug,  but  the  unconscious  effect  of 
gentlemanly  influence. 

Long  absence  from  Society,  so  called,  had  given 
Mr.  Waddy  a  large  appetite  to  taste  whatever  it 
might  have  to  offer  of  nutriment  or  tidbit.  He  was 
not  a  gourmand  for  scandals,  nor  a  gourmet  for 
gossip.  Food  is  food.  Yet  grub  may  not  be  am- 
brosia, and,  ccrtes,  nectar  is  not  swipes.  On  the 
whole,  he  remained  a-hungered.  Ecstasy  he  was  not 
expecting;  he  had  outgrown  such  hope  by  fifteen 
years.  Amusement  he  found.  He  had  banquets 
sometimes  and  sometimes  feasts  infestive;  people 
dined  him  for  various  reasons ;  he  was  made  rather 


142  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

a  lion.  Peter  Skerrett  was  inexhaustibly  amusing. 
Under  his  auspices,  Mr.  Waddy  and  his  friends  came 
judiciously  to  know  all  the  delectable  people  and  all 
the  desirables  not  so  delectable.  When  the  auto- 
cratic gentlemen  at  the  Nilvedere  Hotel  expended 
fifteen  dollars  in  pink  buckram  for  decorations  and 
gave  a  ball,  Ira  was  invited,  of  course.  When  soon 
after  Mr.  Belden's  arrival,  that  gentleman,  after  an 
unusually  successful  subscription  night,  persuaded 
Mrs.  Aquiline  to  matronise  a  picnic,  Mr.  Waddy 
and  his  friends  were  of  the  party.  Mr.  Belden  gave 
out  publicly  that  this  picnic  was  for  Diana.  To 
Mrs.  De  Flournoy  Budlong  he  whispered  that 
it  was  in  honour  of  their  acquaintance  and  rapid 
intimacy. 

Mr.  Belden  would  hardly  have  been  willing  that 
Diana  should  know  how  great  this  intimacy  had 
become.  She  was  not  likely  to  hear  the  scandals  of 
the  Millard ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  in- 
timacy soon  became  one  of  the  most  delectable  of 
the  said  scandals.  Julia  Wilkes  and  Milly  Center 
talked  it  over  and  knew  quite  too  much  about  it. 
Mrs.  Aquiline  remembered  that  she  was  n£e  Re- 
troussee,  and  with  a  subdued  delight  kept  the  rector 
of  St.  Gingulphus  fully  informed.  Rev.  Theo. 
Logge,  who  was  by  this  time  well  into  the  Lee 
Scuppernong,  smacked  his  lips  over  the  flirtation 
and  hoped  to  Mrs.  Grognon  that  there  was  nothing 
wrong. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  143 

"  A  foo  paw,"  he  said,  "  would  bring  terrible  dis- 
grace upon  the  congregation  of  St.  Aspasia." 

And  then  Logge  indited  two  letters  to  the  Pre- 
server. The  religious  letter  bewailed  the  immorality 
of  the  fashionable  world,  in  the  pious  style  of  gener- 
alisation, and  referred  to  the  "  dreadful  develop- 
ments in  the  communication  of  our  secular  corre- 
spondent, Phylac  Terry."  Phylac  did  not  develop 
anything;  he  confined  himself  to  liquorish  innuendos. 

Whenever  Mrs.  Budlong  was  out  with  her 
elalage  in  the  parlours,  Mr.  Belden  might  have  been 
seen  hanging  over  and  inspecting  it.  There  was  no 
hour  when  they  were  not  together.  Belden's  bolter 
came  into  play  for  buggy  drives  at  solitary  hours, 
and  though  he  was  willing  to  conceal  the  qualities 
of  that  singed  cat,  Knockknees,  he  rode  him  cau- 
tiously by  her  side  on  the  beach.  The  sun  went 
down,  dimmer  grew  the  horizon  where  it  met  the 
sea,  dusk  and  dim  and  far-away,  falling  upon  the 
boundlessness  of  sea.  With  the  glow  and  the  glory 
of  sunset,  gay  files  of  carriages  had  left  the  beach, 
struggled  over  the  stones,  and  climbed  the  dusty 
hill.  But  Mr.  Belden  and  his  companion  lingered. 
She  was  saying  little  and  sometimes  hardly  listen- 
ing, thinking  perhaps  of  girlish  escapades  on 
horseback,  stampedes  upon  a  bareback  pony  over 
meadow  or  among  the  pumpkin  piles  of  her  father's 
orchard  long  ago, — ah !  how  long  it  seemed ! — when 
she   was    simpler   and    possibly   purer   than    now. 


144  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Purer?  Ah!  this  seemed  a  thought  she  was  willing 
to  dismiss,  and  Drummer  suffered  for  her  wish  to 
fly  from  it.  He  tore  madly  on  through  the  dim 
twilight,  she  looking  back  almost  fearfully.  When 
that  gallop  was  over,  she  was  again  ready  to  devote 
herself  to  her  cavalier,  letting  him  bend  over  the 
saddle  and  rearrange  her  dress. 

Peter  Skerrett  did  not  like  this  at  all  and  spoke  to 
Mr.  Budlong,  who  came  and  went  every  week.  Old 
Bud  told  him  that  since  his  wife  had  frankly  given 
up  the  Frenchman,  she  should  have  her  own  way. 
He  trusted  her  fully,  he  said — good  soul ! 

Peter  had  no  right  to  interfere.  Mr.  Waddy  had 
no  right.  No  one  had.  No  one  ever  has.  Women 
and  men  go  on  ruining  themselves,  and  the  world 
winks  and  lets  them. 

Nor  had  Peter  any  right  to  interfere  in  Miss  Ara- 
bella's flirtation  with  De  Chateauneant.  He  there- 
fore kept  away  and  the  flirtation  intensified.  Mrs. 
Budlong  patronised  it. 

Peter  could  not  interfere  in  Master  Tim's  sub- 
scriptions. Tim  was  of  age,  his  father's  partner. 
What  if  he  chose  to  subscribe?  Peter  used  to  drop 
in  at  the  subscription  rooms  and  watch  the  young 
rake's  progress.  The  principal  subscriptions  were  in 
private — it  was  then  that  De  Chateauneant  made 
his  heaviest  collections.  He  was  a  most  accom- 
plished and  successful  collector.  It  may  have  been 
that  he  occasionally  allowed  Tim  to  get  somewhat  in 


Mr.  Waddys  Return  145 

arrears ;  it  was  well  enough  to  have  Miss  Arabella's 
brother  under  obligations. 

Peter  Skerrett  inquired  of  Rev.  Logge  whether  all 
his  tract  societies  were  supplied  with  agents. 

"  I  could  recommend  you,"  says  Peter,  "  a  most 
surprising  beggar  who  gets  money  out  of  everyone, 
as  Agent  for  the  Society  for  Making  Tracks." 

In  fact,  to  both  Peter  and  Mr.  Waddy,  the  colour 
of  the  nobleman's  legs  became  daily  more  offensive. 
They  were  usually  clad  in  violet  cassimere,  with  a 
flowered  stripe,  as  is  the  manner  of  noblemen  of  his 
particular  rank.  But  to  the  two  gentlemen  they 
seemed  dyed  of  darkest  Stygian  hues. 

Peter  Skerrett,  to  distract  himself  from  these 
anxieties,  though  he  denied  that  he  felt  any  or  was 
concerned  for  the  Budlongs,  otherwise  than  as  an 
amateur  of  scandals,  took  Sir  Comeguys  under  his 
protection.  Like  a  European  courier,  he  would 
allow  no  one  to  cheat  that  ingenuous  youth  but 
himself.  Thus  there  is  a  Skerretty  congruity  in  the 
wild  legends  of  American  life  which  luridly  light  the 
pages  of  "  Tracks  in  the  Trail  of  the  Bear  and  the 
Buffalo."  Gyas  Cutus  and  Cloanthus,  when  they 
were  off  duty  with  Miss  Julia  Wilkes,  were  con- 
stantly on  the  watch  for  Sir  Com.  They  liked  to  be 
seen  with  the  baronet,  and  were  ardent  to  "  sell " 
him,  as  they  called  it.  But  these  mercantile  transac- 
tions, more  satisfactory  to  the  seller  than  to  the 
sold,  Peter  Skerrett  interfered  with. 


146  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  You'd  better  take  care,  Guy,  you  and  old  Go," 
he  said,  to  the  pair  of  pleasant  knaves.  "  This  son 
of  perfidious  Albion  may  be  green,  but  he  is  plucky 
and  you  may  get  your  heads  punched.  That 
wouldn't  do,  because  they  are  soft  and  the  inden- 
tures caused  by  such  punching  would  remain  and 
make  it  hard  to  fit  you  with  hats.  Abstain  and  be 
wise !  " 

"  Do  let  us  have  a  shy  at  him,  Peter,"  pleaded 
Gyas.  "  His  ancestors  and  mine  fought  at  Bunker 
Hill — I  wish  to  revenge  the  death  of  General 
Warren." 

"Your  ancestors?"  replied  Peter.  "Who  told 
you  that  you  ever  had  any?  They  may  have  been 
tadpoles  or  worse  at  that  heroic  period.  Certainly, 
your  grandfather,  the  first  human  Gyas  Cutus  I  ever 
heard  of,  was  only  a  grade  above  the  tadpole  when 
he  kept  the  Frog  Huddle  Pond  House,  near  what 
was  then  the  village  of  Newark  in  Jersey.  We  allow 
you  to  associate  with  us  because  you're  not  such  a 
very  bad  fellow  when  you're  properly  bullied;  but 
don't  try  to  come  the  ancestor  dodge — except  in  that 
neat  and  evidently  inherited  way  you  have  of  mixing 
drinks." 

"  Well,  don't  be  too  hard  on  a  feller,"  said  Guy. 
"  Come  and  make  it  seven  bells — tomar  las  once, 
as  the  Dagoes  say — I  learned  that  from  a  sailor  yes- 
terday aboard  of  Blinders'  yacht." 

"  You're  learning  to  mar  all  hours  with  tipple.    I 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  147 

shall  have  to  whisper  to  the  fair  Julia,  unless  you 
swear  off,"  threatened  Peter. 

"  I  swear  enough,  off  and  on,  don't  I,  Clo?  But 
the  tipple  tap  won't  stop.  I  believe  I'll  knock  off 
everything  but  bourbon,  as  you  told  me  to  do  be- 
fore." 

"  Do,"  said  Peter  encouragingly.  "  The  deteri- 
oration in  our  race  is  completely  checked  since  native 
wines  and  bourbon  came  in.  Take  plenty  of  bour- 
bon, and  if  you  ever  have  a  son,  possibly  he  may 
have  a  beard.    Think  of  that  I " 


CHAPTER  XV 

MR.   WADDY  RECEIVES  A  LETTER   AND  GETS  OUT  HIS 
PISTOLS 


I 


T  was  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Waddy  received 
the  following  letter  from  Mr.  Tootler: 


"  The  Shrine,  August,  1855. 
"  Dear  Ira  : 

"  I  have  leased  your  store,  No.  26  Waddy  Build- 
ings, to  Godfrey  Bullion  &  Co.,  for  five  years  at 
$5000  a  year. 

"  Wool  is  up  and  fleecing  prospers.  I  am  glad,  for 
Mrs.  T.  asked  me  the  other  day  what  I  thought  had 
better  be  the  name  of  our  boy.  How  would  you  like 
to  be  N.  or  M.  to  him — Ira  if  it's  he,  Irene  if  it's  a 
girl  ?  Ira  and  Irene — Wrath  and  Peace — that's  just 
the  difference  between  boy  and  girl. 

"  But  this  is  not  what  I  am  writing  about.  You 
know,  my  dear  old  boy,  that  I  was  never  inquisitive 
about  your  affairs.  Still,  you  can't  suppose  that  I 
have  not  divined  something  with  regard  to  you  and 
a  certain  old  friend  of  ours.  I  don't  ask  information 
now,  because  I  believe  if  you  had  the  right,  you 
would  have  given  it  long  ago. 

"  Of  course  you  remember  Sally  Bishop.  The  day 
148 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  149 

after  you  bought  Pallid,  Cecilia  went  over  to  see 
her.  (The  dear  girl  is  always  going  to  see  people  that 
have  diseases.  I  wonder  she  don't  take  the  small- 
pox and  yellow  fever  twice  a  month  the  year  round.) 
It  seems  old  Bishop  had  spoken  of  you,  and  when 
my  wife  arrived,  Sally,  who  is  dying  fast,  was  very 
curious  to  hear  more.  Cecilia  was  surprised  to  find 
that  Sally  knew  you,  but  would  have  supposed  her 
inquiries  only  the  ordinary  interest  of  a  neighbour 
in  the  return  of  a  neighbour,  except  for  something 
very  singular  in  her  manner.  Sally  asked  if  you 
were  as  fine-looking  as  ever.  Mrs.  T.,  of  course, 
gave  the  proper  reply.  Were  you  married?  Did 
you  look  happy?  Cecilia  thought  it  a  strange  ques- 
tion— but  said  that  though  you  were  cheerful  and 
very  amusing,  she  found  you  sometimes  very  sad — 
she  had  observed,  in  fact,  as  I  had,  that  there  seemed 
to  be  some  unhappiness  at  the  bottom  of  your  in- 
different manner.  Sally  Bishop  burst  into  tears,  in 
such  a  distressed  and  almost  agonised  manner  that 
my  wife  feared  she  would  kill  herself  with  weeping. 
Cecilia  prayed  her  to  say  what  this  meant,  and  she 
answered  in  a  frightened  voice,  '  Remorse! ' — she 
would  not  or  could  not  say  anything  more,  and  has 
always  refused  to  see  Cecilia  since. 

"  I  have  good  reason  to  suppose  that  Sally  had  at 
one  time  the  most  intimate  relations  with  Belden. 
She  may  have  been  his  mistress.  I  only  much  sus- 
pect, without  being  able  to  fully  prove.    There  was  a 


150  Mr.   Waddy's   Return 

child,  a  Ulius  nullius,  who  died,  and  it  was  the  feel- 
ing of  shame  at  this,  though  I  believe  that  not  five 
people  knew  it,  that  drove  her  father  to  hard 
drinking. 

"  Ira — what  cause  can  she  have  to  feel  re- 
morse at  the  mention  of  your  name?  Is  it  possible 
that  she  may  have  been  drawn  by  Belden  into  some 
devilish  plot  against  you?  And  against  someone 
else? 

"  I  can  make  no  conjectures,  as  I  do  not  know 
facts  enough.  Cecilia,  who  seems  to  have  her  own 
theory,  which  she  will  not  impart,  will  endeavour  to 
learn  more  from  Sally. 

"  Meantime,  do  you  watch  Belden !  I  know  that 
he  went  several  times  to  see  Sally,  and  each  time  she 
was  more  ill.  He  is  capable  of  anything,  the  rotten 
villain! — as  two  of  my  family  know,  Cecilia  and 
myself.  Is  he  disposed  to  be  friendly  with  you  now  ? 
Something  may  appear  in  conversation,  if  you  have 
a  clew.    Watch  him ! 

"  Yours, 

"  Thomas  Tootler." 

Mr.  Waddy  read  this  letter  very  carefully  twice. 
He  folded  and  filed  it  with  a  bundle  of  old  yellow 
letters,  written  in  a  hand  like  his  own,  with  so  much 
difference  only  as  there  may  be  between  writing  of 
man  and  boy-man.  He  then,  with  the  same  extreme 
deliberation,  took  from  a  portmanteau  a  mahogany 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  151 

box.  In  it  were  two  eight-inch  six-shooters,  ap- 
parently fired  only  once  or  twice  for  trial.  Both 
were  loaded  in  every  barrel  of  the  cylinder  with  con- 
ical ball.  The  caps  were  perfectly  fresh,  but  Mr. 
Waddy  changed  them  all. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Major  Granby 
came  in. 

"At  your  armory,  eh?"  he  asked.  "  You  were 
always  a  great  amateur  in  shooting-irons.  What's 
in  the  wind  now?  You  look  like  an  executioner. 
What  do  you  intend  to  slay — beast,  man,  or  devil?  " 

"  If  I  shoot,  it  will  be  to  slay  all  three  in  one," 
said  Waddy  gravely. 

He  had  a  manner  of  intense  and  concentrated 
wrath,  quite  terrible  to  see.  The  Ira  of  the  man's 
nature  was  dominant. 

Granby  understood  that  this  meant  mischief. 

"  Do  you  want  me?  "  he  asked,  quick  but  quiet. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  his  friend ;  "  perhaps  not  at 
all.  I  don't  like  to  talk  of  shooting  until  the  time 
comes  to  do  it.  Aiming  too  long  makes  the  hand 
tremble.  You  can  understand,  Granby,  that  the 
world  becomes  a  small  and  narrow  place  to  walk  in 
when  we  meet  an  enemy  deadly  and  damnable. 
Now,  without  nourishing  any  ill-feeling,  I  begin  to 
half  perceive  that  there  may  be  a  person  whose  life 
and  mine  are  inconsistent.  You  said  I  looked  like  an 
executioner — it  may  be  that  I  shall  be  appointed  exe- 
cutioner of  such  a  person." 


152  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  I  know  you  too  well,"  said  Granby,  "  to  suppose 
you  capable  of  any  petty  revenge — this  is  grave,  of 
course." 

"  It  is  grave.  Personal  revenge  is  necessary  for 
the  protection  of  society.  There  is  crime  that  laws 
take  no  notice  of.  Public  opinion — public  scorn — is 
never  quite  reliable.  Nor  does  public  opinion  pro- 
tect the  innocent  ignorant.  There  may  be  such 
an  absolutely  dastard  villain  that,  for  the  safety 
and  decency  and  habitableness  of  the  globe,  he 
must  die — and  it  is  fortunate  for  society  when 
he  outrages  anyone  to  the  point  of  deadly  ven- 
geance." 

"  Do  you  begin  to  see  any  light  on  the  part  of 
your  life  that  we  have  talked  over  by  so  many  camp- 
fires?    Fifteen  years  is  long  to  wait." 

"  No  years  are  lost  while  a  man  is  learning  pa- 
tience. I  remember  that  it  took  thirty  years  of  my 
life  to  teach  me  to  regard  my  moral  and  mental 
tremors  and  stumbles  and  falls  with  the  same  un- 
concern that  in  my  fifteenth  year  I  did  my  childish 
physical  weaknesses.  I  suppose  that  one  hour  of 
actual  happiness  now,  which  I  am  certainly  not 
likely  to  have,  would  explain  my  dark  fifteen  years. 
Patience !  " 

"  You  expect  to  win  happiness  by  killing  your 
man,  eh  ?  "  questioned  Granby. 

"  No ;  if  I  kill  him,  it  will  merely  be  from  a 
quickened  sense  of  duty.     Don't  think  I'm  going  to 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  153 

lie  in  ambush  like  a  Thug.  I  wait  information  and 
entertain  a  purpose." 

Here,  Sir  Comeguys  knocked  at  the  door.  They 
had  an  appointment  for  a  sailing  party. 

As  they  passed  the  parlour,  Belden  was  sitting 
with  Mrs.  Budlong.  It  was  as  much  contact  as  was 
possible  in  public,  and  some  women  allow  liberal 
possibilities. 

"  How  much  that  Belden  looks  like  your  friend 
Dunstan,"  said  Granby.  "  No  compliment  to  Dun- 
stan,  who  is  just  the  type  American,  chivalrous,  half- 
alligator,  not  without  a  touch  of  the  non-snapping 
but  tenderly  billing  and  cooing  turtle.  A  graceful 
union  of  Valentine  and  Orson.  He  is  the  finest  fel- 
low I  have  seen  and  his  giant  friend,  Paulding,  is 
made  of  the  same  porcelain  in  bigger  mold.  They 
seem  to  have  been  everywhere  and  seen  and  done 
everything,  except  what  gentlemen  should  not  do. 
You'll  do  well,  Ambient,  to  model  after  them  for 
your  Yankee  life." 

"  Doosed  fine  fellows,"  said  Ambient,  "  and  Dun- 
stan has  told  me  lots  about  buffalo  hunting.  This 
fellow  may  look  a  little  like  Harwy  Dunstan — but  he 
is  older,  seedier,  and  hawder.  Harwy  looks  as  fresh 
as  Adam  before  the  fall.  If  he  was  not  such  an  out- 
and-outer  and  my  fwiend,  I  should  be  savage  at  him 
for  cutting  me  out  with  Diana.  She  seemed  to  like 
him,  by  George! — fwom  the  start." 

"  I  thought  it  was  Miss  Clara,"  said  Ira,  "  and 


154  Mr-  Waddy's  Return 

that  Granby  would  be  gouging  the  young  hero. 
Paulding  seems  to  me  more  devoted  to  Diana." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Granby,  "  to  pass  from 
bipeds  to  quadrupeds — that  Mr.  Belden  is  trying  to 
make  up  a  race  with  that  wide-travelling  horse  of 
his?  I  heard  him  phrase  it  the  other  day  that  he 
could  '  wipe  out '  Pallid." 

"If  he  should  offer  a  bet  on  that,  I  wish  you 
would  take  it — for  me,  you  understand — to  any 
amount,"  said  Ira.  "  His  horse  is  a  singed  cat,  but 
Pallid  don't  need  any  fire  singeing  him  to  make 
him  go.  I  didn't  think  he  could  go  as  he  does,  but 
he  is  working  into  it  every  day." 

"  Belden  won't  stand  a  very  large  bet.  He  has 
been  subscribing,  as  they  call  it,  to  the  Frenchman 
lately.  Are  both  those  men  lovers  of  your  fat 
friend's  wife?  What  villains  some  women  are! 
Bless  them !  "  said  Granby.  "  Didn't  you  tell  me, 
Ambient,  that  you  had  seen  that  Frenchman  some- 
where? " 

"  I'm  looking  at  him  every  day,"  replied  Sir  Com. 
"  I  lost  a  thousand  pounds  to  some  fellows  in  Pawis 
two  years  ago.  I  was  gween  then — a  pwecious  sight 
gweener  than  I  am  now.  Those  fellows  showed  me 
about  Pawis,  and  all  I  know  of  the  money  is  that  I 
lost  the  thousand  one  night  at  what  they  call  a  pwi- 
vate  hell.  I  was  vewy  dwunk  at  the  time,  I'm 
ashamed  to  say,  and  have  no  doubt  they  plucked  me. 
I'm  almost  suah  that  this  Fwenchman  is  one  of  the 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  155 

same  chaps.  He's  diffewen1;ly  got  up,  but  if  I  can 
spot  him  (as  Skewwett  says)  I  shall  pound  him 
more  or  less — more,  I  think." 

"  Do  so,  O  six-feet  Nemesis !  and  you  will  take 
the  house  down.  If  you  will  mill  the  Gaul  and 
Waddy  beat  that  contemptible  fellow  in  the  race — 
Io  triumphc!  which  means  I  not  only  owe  but  will 
pay  a  triumphal  supper." 

With  talk  like  this,  the  gentlemen  arrived  at  the 
wharf.  Why  the  boat  they  embarked  in  should  be 
called  a  "  cat,"  they  could  not  discover.  A  cat  is 
fond  of  fish,  as  the  poet  hath  it 

"  What  female  heart  can  gold  despise  ? 
What  cat's  averse  to  fish  ?  " 

Newport  female  hearts  of  the  summer  popula- 
tion despise  not,  but,  several  of  them  at  least,  do 
fitly  esteem  the  yellow  boys,  and  Newport  cats  and 
those  who  sail  in.  them  are  not  averse  to  fishing  for 
fish  and  taking  them.  So  Waddy  smiled  with  his 
friends  and  thought  too  much  of  Tootler's  letter. 
He  would  watch  Belden. 

Meantime,  Mr.  Waddy  saw  the  world  continu- 
ously,— and  continuously  was  lionised.  This  has  its 
pleasures  and  its  pains.  It  does  not  build  up  lofty 
structures  of  respect  towards  the  lioniser.  Mr. 
Waddy,  however,  always  had  the  charm  of  sweet 
refuge  with  his  cousin,  as  he  called  her,  Clara,  fair- 
est of  the  fair,  and  her  friend,  the  divine  Diana. 


156  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Mrs.  Waddie  made  immense  dinner  parties  for  the 
Returned  Kinsman,  where  he  met  the  people  one 
meets  in  that  best  world,  of  which  his  hostess  is  \so 
distinguished  an  ornament,  etc. 

The  particularly  distinguished  guest  of  that  sum- 
mer was  the  Hon.  and  Rev.  Gorgias  Pithwitch,  the 
epideiktic  sophist  of  the  nadir  Orient.  Mr.  Pith- 
witch  was  sometimes  called  "  The  Wizard  of  the 
North."  He  drew  immense  houses  to  his  pleasant 
jugglery.  He  had,  that  summer,  as  always,  excel- 
lent man!  some  amiable  charity  to  assist — such  as 
to  relieve  Mahomet's  coffin  from  the  painful  un- 
certainties of  its  position — or  to  purchase  ashes  of 
roses  to  fill  the  cenotaph  of  Mausolus.  Anything 
elegiac  or  pensively  sepulchral  gave  him  a  cue  for 
epideiktics  or  showing  off. 

Mr.  Pithwitch  spoke  on  the  character  of  Mahomet 
at  Newport  at  the  request  of  the  Ladies'  Coffin 
Down  Society.  All  the  people  who  figure  in  this 
history  went.  People  always  go  to  hear  things.  The 
boys  and  girls  thought  the  oration  "  thweet,"  and  so 
it  was — just  about.  Mr.  Belden  went  with  Mrs. 
Budlong  and  whispered  her  safely  through,  playing 
meanwhile  familiarly  with  the  fringe  of  her  flounces. 
How  they  began  to  eye  each  other  now,  those  two ! 
Tim  Budlong  escorted  Miss  Saccharissa  Mellasys. 
A  young  poet,  Edmund  Waller  by  name,  had  fallen 
desperately  in  love  with  the  soft,  startled  eyes  of 
Saccharissa.     She    cast    upon    him    sugar-melting 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  157 

glances,  and  he  loved.  Girls  like  poets  and  poets  like 
girls.  But  Edmund,  in  the  intervals  of  his  sonnet- 
teering  Miss  Mellasys,  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
beat  Tim  Budlong  regularly  at  billiards.  Tim  was 
in  a  porcupine  state  of  mind  and  resolved  to  be  re- 
venged. He  devoted  himself  to  Saccharissa  and 
she,  well-knowing  the  cipher  of  the  poet's  fortunes 
and  the  chiffre  of  Tim's,  reciprocated  the  devotions. 
They  first  began  to  appear  together  in  public  at 
Pithwitch's  oration.  People  began  to  whisper.  It 
was  at  this  period  of  his  life  that  Waller  wrote  his 
spasmodic  poem,  "  The  Beldame,  or  Blasted  Hope." 

Mrs.  Waddie,  as  has  been  said,  made  a  dinner  for 
Mr.  Pithwitch.  It  was  part  of  her  active  business 
in  society  to  have  all  the  lions  properly  treated,  and 
this  was  not  the  first  whom  Mr.  Waddy  had  met  at 
her  house.  Mr.  Pithwitch  was,  of  course,  an  ac- 
complished, gentlemanly  person  and  very  much 
liked. 

"  So  that  is  your  type  orator,"  Mr.  Waddy  mur- 
mured through  his  cheroot  to  Dunstan,  as  they 
walked  home  together;  "  the  best  among  a  myriad 
talkers  from  a  platform.  I  suppose  he's  not  able  to 
balance  himself  on  a  stump,  and  therefore  is  not  out 
doing  his  duty  to  what  you  call  the  Cause  of  Free- 
dom in  this  campaign.  Is  he  ardent  for  that  Cause? 
Is  he  ardent  for  any  cause?  Is  he  a  strong  fiery 
spirit?    I  trow  not.     Tell  me  of  him." 

Whereupon  Dunstan  gave  Ira  that  sketch  of  the 


158  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

character  and  genius  of  Mr.  Pithwitch  which  has 
just  been  read.  Dunstan  was  quite  familiar  with 
the  men  of  this  country  who  had  done  aught  to 
distinguish  themselves,  either  positively  or  nega- 
tively. The  active  life  he  had  led  had  given  him  an 
independence  of  thought  not  common  among  schol- 
ars. He  had  already  been  through  some  tough  po- 
litical experience  in  California  in  the  Free  State 
struggle  and  was  now,  on  his  re-establishment  at 
home,  nominated  for  Congress  in  his  North  River 
district  to  replace  a  person  who  had  voted  for  the 
Nebraska  bill.  Dunstan  was  wanted  at  this  very 
time  in  the  county  of  his  nomination,  and  on  the 
stump  everywhere;  he  was  a  young  man  of  fervid 
and  passionate  nature,  quite  untrammelled  by  any 
law  of  life  other  than  his  own  sense  of  right.  If  he 
was  needed  elsewhere,  why  did  he  stay  at  Newport? 
Men  will  often  stay  where  they  should  not,  longer 
than  they  should,  for  several  reasons,  but  principally 
for  female  ones. 

Ira  and  Dunstan  were  much  together.  They 
talked  over  society  and  socialisms  at  much  greater 
length  than  can  be  here  repeated.  The  younger  man 
represented  the  party  of  confident  hope — the  elder 
did  not  see  life,  living,  and  livers  in  such  brilliant 
colours.     Perhaps  his  sight  was  jaundiced. 

In  fact,  for  all  his  friends  of  the  best,  and  for  all 
his  lionising,  Mr.  Waddy  did  not  cease  to  be  often 
lonely  and  often  forlorn.     Was  he  growing  bilious 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  159 

again,  or  bored,  that  he  found  himself  uneasy  and 
unhappy,  and  became  again  often  filled  with  bitter 
longing,  and  was  forced  to  harden  his  heart  with 
study  of  a  certain  old  yellow  letter  ?  He  knew  also 
that  it  would  be  well  if  he  looked  less  at  his  pistols. 
It  seemed  an  unworthy  thing  to  be  a  spy  upon  Mr. 
Belden's  movements.  He  saw  that  that  gentleman 
avoided  him  and  he  indulged  himself  in  interfer- 
ences with  this  artful  dodger — not  spitefully,  but  be- 
cause he  wished  to  observe  him,  and  because  he  did 
not  love  that  a  man  he  so  thoroughly  distrusted 
should  have  power  anywhere  with  anyone  who 
might  confide. 

All  this  was  unhappy,  unhealthy  business.  Why 
return  for  such  life  as  this?  He  began  to  talk  with 
Granby  of  their  journeys  and  their  hunts  proposed ; 
but  Granby,  who,  perforce,  had  become  a  Stoic, 
hopeless  of  any  return  to  his  happy  happiness,  satis- 
fied himself  very  well  where  he  was.  There  were 
snipe  and  plover  to  be  bagged ;  the  bay  still  yielded 
as  good  fish  as  had  ever  been  taken.  All  the  ladies 
who  rode  were  ready  to  be  companioned  by  so  dis- 
tinguished a  cavalier.  All  who  drove  thought  him 
an  agreeable  and  decorative  object  on  the  front  seats 
of  the  drivers'  drags.  He  knew  all  the  catsmen  of 
the  docks.  At  every  yachting  party  he,  as  well  as 
Waddy,  was  an  indispensable.  He  bathed ;  he  danced ; 
he  astonished  people  at  late,  sleepy  breakfasts  by 
coming  in   with   vast   appetite   from   seven-league 


160  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

walks  and  presenting  this  pallid  danseuse  of  the  last 
night's  hop  with  a  wild  rosebud  from  a  hill  a  dozen 
miles  away,  or  that  weary,  nightless,  ballful  dowager 
with  a  creamy,  new-laid  egg.  He  held  his  own  at 
the  club,  at  billiards  with  the  three  ponies  of  the 
summer:  with  Mr.  Skibbereen,  the  cool,  cautious 
man  and  dashing  player :  with  Blinders,  the  dashing 
man  and  accurate,  mathematical  player:  with  Bob 
O'Link,  the  sentimental  man  and  nonchalant  player. 
Poor  Bob  O'Link  used  to  hum  lugubrious  airs,  such 
as  the  serenade  from  "  Trovatore,"  and  sigh  to 
Granby,  particularly  when  he  made  a  scratch,  that  a 
man  whose  destiny  it  was  to  be  a  poet  could  only 
attain  to  billiard-marker  results. 

"  I'm  too  lucky,"  said  Bob  O',  "  to  lose  money. 
Then  I  might  grow  poor  and  work.  But  I'm  like 
Caesar — wasn't  it  Cccsar  aut  nullusf — everything 
I  touch  turns  to  gold."  And  then  he  would 
make  a  lunging  stroke  that  the  tyros  talked  of  all 
summer. 

"  Poor  fellow!  "  said  Granby.  "  You  have  rea- 
son to  be  a  disappointed  man.  I've  known  whole 
families  in  the  same  condition.  You'll  have  to 
marry  a  strong-minded  woman  and  learn  to  run  a 
sewing  machine." 

"  I  don't  see  any  strong-minded  women,"  replied 
Link,  looking  into  an  empty  chalk-cup  for  chalk. 

"  There's  Miss  Anthrope,"  suggested  Granby. 
"  Besides,  Peter  Skerrett  says  it's  one  of  the  oldest 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  161 

and  most  respectable  families.  They  came  in,  did 
the  Anthropes,  with  the  creation.     Marry  her." 

"  Now  you  mention  it,  I  believe  I  will,"  cried  Bob; 
and  he  did.  And  Miss  Anthrope,  now  Mrs.  O'Link, 
is  one  of  the  lights  of  the  woman's  question,  while 
Bob  O'  is  really  happy  at  home  in  a  cradle  Elysium, 
and  would  not  give  an  obolus  to  be  ferried  back  to 
the  mundane  joys  of  his  former  life. 

Major  Granby  was  thus,  in  truth,  useful  as  well 
as  agreeable,  and  with  the  feelings  of  a  man  who  is 
doing  his  duty  towards  himself  and  incidentally  to- 
wards others,  including  his  protege,  Ambient,  he  de- 
termined to  keep  Mr.  Waddy  at  Newport. 

I  should  be  doing  great  injustice  to  Granby  did  I 
fail  to  say  that,  with  all  his  pretence  of  personal  en- 
joyment, it  was  mainly  on  Ira's  account  that  he 
stayed.  Granby  had  not  found  his  friend  any  less 
malcontent  out  of  the  world  than  in  it.  He  had 
seen  the  same  dreariness  and  utter  dissatisfaction 
overcome  him  in  camps,  in  desert  or  forest;  under 
the  special  and  immediate  influence  of  Nature, 
kindly  restorer,  he  had  seen  him  unrestored.  Not 
that  his  friend  was  morbid,  inactive,  sulky,  dull, 
selfish — never  these.  Such  traits  terminate  compan- 
ionship, if  not  friendly  regard.  Ira  was  always, 
when  the  time  came  for  exertion,  alert,  bold,  a  trap- 
per of  the  most  up-to-trap  kind.  But  when  the  mo- 
ment's fleeting  purpose  was  o'ertook,  he  seemed  to 
care  not  for  changing  purpose  into  result.     When 


1 62  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

need  for  vivacity  ceased,  he  returned  into  gloom. 
His  mental  hermitage  was  always  ready,  where  he 
could  become  a  Trappist  of  the  Carthusian  variety. 
Voyaging  over  the  wild  regions  of  the  earth  had 
done  him  no  good.  Granby  saw  that  his  friend  had 
not  been  happy  out  of  society.  The  old  wrong, 
whatever  it  was,  rankled — but  it  was  old.  Might  it 
not  become  out  of  date,  obsolete  ?  No  man  can  ever 
forget,  no  man  wishes  to  forget ;  but  he  can  console 
himself.  Why  could  not  Mr.  Waddy  love,  or  like  in 
the  range  of  loving,  someone  who  might  be  made  a 
wife  of  ?  That  would  distract  him — in  one  or  other 
sense. 

"  There  is  the  beautiful  Clara,  his  cousin.  How 
happy  might  a  man  be  in  loving  her,"  thought 
Granby,  with  a  sigh  for  himself.  "  That  fancy  of 
hers  which  I  have  detected  for  Dunstan,  will  pass 
away  when  she  sees  he  is  Diana's.  Of  course 
Waddy  is  charmed  with  Clara.  I  believe  the  dog  ac- 
tually presumes  upon  his  kinsmanship  and  youthful 
antiquity  to  the  point  of  a  kiss — confound  him !  " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  WHICH   MR.  HORACE  BELDEN  PROSPERS  CERTAIN 
PLANS 

DIANA  had  been  left  a  few  days  with  Miss  Sul- 
livan. It  was  pleasant  after  the  wide,  rolling 
sea,  dreary  sometimes  and  lonely  in  its  grandeur,  to 
look  quietly  across  the  tranquil  lawn  upon  a  culti- 
vated landscape,  full  of  life  and  homes  of  seeming 
happy  lives.  Summer  was  ripening  all  along  the 
gentle  slopes — a  pleasant,  quiet  summer  for  Diana 
and  her  hostess,  and  they  spent  the  few  days  of 
Diana's  stay  in  closest  confidence. 

Mr.  Belden  did  not  call  upon  Diana  at  Miss  Sul- 
livan's, but  he  discovered  the  day  of  her  departure. 
A  carefully  considered  chance  made  him  a  passenger 
on  the  same  train.  He  did  not  appear  until  Miss 
Sullivan  had  taken  leave  of  her  former  pupil.  Diana 
had  no  fear  of  travelling  alone.  Railroad  conduc- 
tors are  among  the  errant  knights  of  modern  chiv- 
alry; but  I  never  heard  that  Diana  needed  protec- 
tion. She  could  wither  impertinence  with  a  look. 
But  though  she  did  not  need  an  escort,  she  did  not 
hate  one,  and  when  Belden  came  up  with  the  man- 
ner of  his  better  self,  she  made  place  and  accepted 
him  as  companion  of  dustyish  hours. 

163 


164  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Diana  was  happy  that  day.  Her  talks  with  Miss 
Sullivan  had  cleared  away  much  darkness  from  her 
mind.  She  was  younger  by  many  years  than  a  week 
before.  All  the  beautiful  sights  and  scenes  of  her 
past  fleeted  before  her  in  bright  and  changing  pic- 
tures. She  was  thinking  much  of  her  free  and  hunt- 
ress life  in  Texas.  She  could  even  forget  the  ter- 
rible death  of  her  mother.  The  whole  story  of  that 
dreadful  event  was  no  longer  a  dark  secret  with  her 
and  one  other,  and  that  other  she  no  longer  dreaded 
to  meet — that  other  she  need  no  longer  exclude  from 
her  presence  and  her  thoughts. 

A  few  hours  with  Miss  Sullivan  had  changed  the 
current  of  her  life.  She  was  no  longer  drifting  hope- 
lessly toward  maddening  terrors,  forever  in  dread  of 
herself  lest  she  should  yield  to  a  hope  that  she  must 
deem  sacrilege.  She  had  called  Miss  Sullivan 
mother,  and  when  that  lady,  studying  her,  perhaps 
by  the  light  of  some  bitter  experience  of  her  own, 
had  said,  like  a  mother  firm  and  wise,  "  My  child ! 
you  are  hiding  something  from  me,"  Diana  flung  her- 
self into  this  mother's  arms,  and  with  such  agonised 
tears  as  you  had  not  looked  for  in  her  clear  and  fear- 
less eyes,  told  the  secret  that  had  been  with  her  like 
a  death — between  her  and  God  and  hope  and  life  and 
love. 

And  now  that  this,  her  mother,  had  shown  her 
how  her  guiltless  and  natural  terrors  were  only 
superstitions,   and  how  she  might  blamelessly  ac- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  165 

cept  an  offered  happiness,  should  it  ever  offer,  there 
was  no  more  vision  of  death  between  Diana  and  the 
beloved  hopes  of  her  soul. 

Yet  she  did  not  wish  to  think  of  the  future ;  there- 
fore she  was  glad  to  be  diverted  in  her  journey  by 
an  agreeable  companion.  And  to  him,  also,  it  was 
good  to  be  with  her.  This  radiant  nature  shone 
upon  him,  and  if  there  was  anywhere  in  his  being  a 
dwarfed  and  colourless  germ  of  better  emotion 
among  the  thickets  of  his  daily  thoughts,  this  now 
sprang  up  and  seemed  ready  to  flourish  and  blossom. 
Belden,  the  petted  and  successful  man,  did  not  with 
Diana  promise  himself  his  usual  easy  triumph.  He 
was  willing  to  win  her  by  pains.  But  sometimes  in 
this  day,  her  manner  was  so  transparently  full  of 
happiness,  and  to  him  was  so  frank  and  gracious, 
that  he  began  to  draw  inferences  rapidly  favourable 
to  himself. 

You  have,  perhaps,  my  young  gentleman  reader 
of  more  or  less  purity  of  mind  and  ardent  tempera- 
ment, sat  apart  in  a  poisoned  mental  ambush  watch- 
ingfthe  woman  you  loved,  while  some  quite  unworthy 
personage,  quite  vulpine  or  quite  viperine,  was  pour- 
ing into  her  ears  talk  that  made  you  feel  like  a  fox- 
hound or  a  snake  exterminator.  It  was  not  that 
the  talk  itself  was  poison — it  was,  perhaps,  no  more 
than  easy  clap-trap,  shining  and  shallow,  cleverish 
things,  such  as  may  suit  a  weekly  newspaper,  phi- 
losophy of  a  man-about-town,  gossip  from  all  the 


1 66  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

courts  from  the  Grand  Lama  to  Brigham  Young — 
the  very  subjects  yourself  would,  like  the  cos- 
mopolite you  are,  have  descanted  on,  were  it  not 
that  here  you  could  only  breathe  phrases  deep  and  de- 
voted. It  is  not  the  talk  that  troubles  you ;  it  is  that 
the  talker,  a  man  you  know  to  be  false  and  foul, 
should  bring  his  presence  so  near  your  shrine  of 
vestal  purity.  But  pardon  him,  the  viper,  that  he 
eloquently  orates,  and  pardon  her,  the  Loved  One, 
that  she  answers  gaily.  Viper,  under  that  good  in- 
fluence, has  perhaps  ceased  to  be  venomous ;  and  the 
Loved  One  is  perhaps  gay  for  remembering  those 
meaning  words  uttered  by  you  so  tenderly  before  the 
serpent  trailed  in  and  you  retired  to  discontented  am- 
buscade under  the  fiery  shelter  of  crimson  curtains. 

Belden,  whether  he  deceived  himself  or  not,  was 
quite  willing  to  think  he  had  made  a  conquest  of 
Diana.  He  was  one  of  those  who  have  been  en- 
couraged by  vulgarish  women,  tending  toward 
demirepdom,  to  think  that,  when  he  entered,  "  all 
fair,  all  rich — all  won,  all  conquered  stand." 
Diana  was  guiltless  of  any  willing  coquetry.  She 
was  thinking  of  herself  and  did  not  concern  herself 
as  to  what  impression  she  made  upon  others.  But 
unwittingly,  by  the  gift  of  nature,  she  had  all  those 
slight  fascinations  and  winning  charms  that  self- 
made  coquettes  study  for  in  laborious  hours,  and 
persuade  themselves  they  have  attained. 

Mr.  Belden  was,  no  doubt,  properly  solicitous  for 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  167 

Diana's  baggage.  This  goddess  was  mundane 
enough  to  have  made  purchases  beyond  belief  of 
Parisian  dresses.  "  I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a 
man,"  but  to  enter  her  boxes  and  describe  their  con- 
tents I  dare  not.  Thinking  of  Diana,  one  thought 
not  of  the  robes,  but  of  the  Mistress  of  the  Robes. 
Belden  was  experienced  in  the  small  cares  of  so- 
ciety. It  was  part  of  his  profession  as  a  ladies'  man 
to  recognise  all  properties  of  his  escorted.  She 
therefore  arrived  unimpaired  at  Newport.  Clara 
Waddie,  who  met  her  at  the  boat,  would  hardly  have 
given  the  escort  so  cordial  a  reception.  Mr.  Belden, 
probably,  did  not  resemble  any  friend  of  hers. 

Diana's  presence  completed  the  charm  of  the 
Waddies'  house  at  Newport,  and  the  house  was  a 
worthy  temple  for  its  two  deities,  for  Clara  had  al- 
ways been  the  mistress  of  its  decorations,  and  her 
cultivation  and  intuitive  judgment  were  everywhere 
apparent. 

Clara  and  Diana!  the  A  and  B  of  this  C,  D,  were 
Dunstan  and  Paulding,  a  pair  of  the  best  men.  A 
noble  thing  is  the  friendship  of  two  brothers  in 
love.  California  began  just  as  they  left  college  to- 
gether. They  dashed  off  immediately.  Being  fel- 
lows who  were  up  to  anything,  they  got  on  wonder- 
fully. They  mined,  drove  coaches,  were  judges  or 
counsel  at  the  plentiful  hangings  of  the  day.  Each 
of  them  shot  a  pillager  or  two  and  rescued  a  few 
Mexicans  and  Chinamen  from  pillage  by  escaped 


1 68  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Australians.     In  the  starvation  winter,  they  headed 
the  party  that  relieved  the  involuntary  cannibals  of 
the  Sierra  Nevada.    They  bought  a  ranch,  and  find- 
ing on   its  edge   among  the  hills   a   ready-money 
boulder  of  gold,  quite  an  Ajax  cast  in  fact,  they 
opened  dry  diggings  there  and  took  out  neat  piles 
before  the  outsiders  came  in.     Then  they  took  a 
little  run  to  San  Francisco.     Everyone  who  has  had 
California — and  what  one  brave  and  bold  of  those 
days  is  there  that  could  have  it  and  did  not? — every 
Calif ornian  of  the  early  times  knows  what  two  men 
drawing  together,  not  indulging  in  hebdomadal  big 
drunks  or  diurnal  little  drunks,  and  not  beguiled  in 
any  sense  by  the  sirens  of  the  Bella  Union  or  other 
halls,  what  such  a  whole  team  could  achieve.    These 
two  friends,  living  together,  acting  together,  having 
common  purse,  common  purposes  for  the  future, 
when  they  had  seen  the  lights  and  shadows  of  this 
phase  of  life,  had  gained  each  the  other's  good  quali- 
ties.    When  they  were  together  in  presence,  you 
saw  their  marked  difference  of  nature,  marked  as 
their    differences    of   physique.     When    they   were 
apart,  each  seemed  the  other's  counterpart.     One 
sometimes  sees  this  singular  likeness  in  man  and 
wife  of  some  marriage  of  happy  augury. 

At  San  Francisco,  they  chanced  to  pick  up  one 
of  the  Mexicans  whom  they  had  protected  and  be- 
friended in  the  mines.  Through  him  they  became 
interested  in  a  land  claim,  which  the  poor  fellow  had 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  169 

by  inheritance.  They  carried  it  on  in  his  behalf,  and 
when  he  died  they  found  themselves  by  his  will 
owners  of  the  claim.  It  was  made  good.  They  were 
selling  it  at  the  fabulous  prices  of  that  day  when 
Paulding  was  recalled  by  his  mother's  death.  Dun- 
stan  remained  to  close  the  business.  He  was  able  to 
remit  to  his  friend  wealth  for  them  both. 

Dunstan  returned  home  across  the  plains  by  New 
Mexico  and  Texas.  In  the  up-country  of  Texas,  he 
was  detained  some  time  by  an  accident.  After  some 
delay,  he  joined  his  friend  in  New  York.  Several 
years  of  toil  and  danger  entitled  them  to  brief  re- 
pose. When  action  again  became  necessary  to 
them,  they  essayed  to  revive  at  home  the  interest 
they  had  felt  in  constructive  politics  in  California, 
but  the  ripeness  of  times  had  not  yet  come.  The  line 
was  not  yet  drawn  upon  the  great  national  question 
of  America,  which  has  since  made  the  position  of 
man  and  man  inevitable  according  to  character  and 
education.     Politics  were  not  interesting. 

Paulding  observed  his  friend  falling  into  melan- 
choly. Since  the  trip  across  the  plains  and  the  ac- 
cident in  Texas,  Dunstan  had  lost  that  ardent  vigour 
and  careless  hopefulness  which  had  made  him  the 
leader  in  their  California  adventures.  Perhaps  he 
had  achieved  success  too  early  and  was  blase. 
Paulding  took  his  friend  to  Europe,  where  they  re- 
mained knocking  about  and  occasionally  amusing 
themselves  with  making  the  aborigines  stare  with 


170  Mr.   Waddy's   Return 

some  stupendous  California  extravagance,  until  they 
heard  of  Fremont's  nomination.  They  knew  the 
man.  They  had  shared  with  him,  and  others  good 
and  true,  the  labours  of  constituting  the  State  of  Cal- 
ifornia. He  was  one  after  their  own  hearts — a 
gentleman  pioneer — a  scholar  forester — a  man  of 
untrammelled  vigour  and  truth  of  character — a  Cali- 
fornian,  which  is  a  type  of  man  alike  incomprehen- 
sible to  the  salon  and  the  saloon.  It  was  the  man  they 
wanted;  it  was  also  the  cause  they  wanted.  They 
made  for  home  as  friends,  Calif ornians,  and  lovers 
of  right,  to  take  part  in  the  campaign.  Dunstan  was 
nominated  for  Congress  at  home,  up  the  North  River. 
They  went  to  Newport  for  days  a  few — they  were 
staying  for  many  days. 

Why? 

Paulding  and  Dunstan  had  known  the  Waddies 
and  Clara  in  Europe.  The  two  friends  were  pre- 
sented to  Diana. 

It  was  all  over  with  Paulding  at  once — over  head 
and  ears.  So  it  happened  with  too  many  men  who 
met  Diana. 

Diana  was  very  happy  in  these  few  weeks,  bril- 
liantly happy.  All  their  friends  came  constantly  to 
the  Waddies'.  At  Newport,  everyone  is  at  leisure; 
pleasure  is  the  object.  Where  it  dwells,  all  go.  So 
the  young  ladies  held  perpetual  levees  without 
tete-a-tetes. 

At  these  levees  Mr.  Belden  appeared  frequently. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  171 

He  was  in  most  amicable  and  laudatory  mood.  He 
pleased  both  the  ladies  by  speaking  in  terms  almost 
affectionate  of  Miss  Sullivan.  He  had  known  her, 
he  said,  from  his  boyhood.  They  had  been  play- 
mates in  the  fresh  days  of  childhood.  Many  a 
morning  he  had  gone  proud  to  school  with  her  rose- 
bud in  his  buttonhole.  They  had  grown  up  to- 
gether, like  brother  and  sister — no,  more  like  cous- 
ins. He  spoke  of  it  with  some  sentiment.  She  was 
very  lovely  then. 

"  She  seems  to  me  still  very  lovely,"  said  Diana. 
"  The  loveliest  woman  I  have  ever  seen.  There  is  a 
serene  sweetness  and  tranquillity  in  her  beauty.  No 
one  else  has  that  look  of  tender  resignation.  She  is 
my  idea  of  Faith." 

Belden  uttered  a  strange  sound  like  a  sigh. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  she  is  what  you  describe.  She 
has  had  need  of  resignation  after  so  much  domestic 
trouble — her  father's  disgrace — their  poverty.  And 
then  her  life  of  teaching — ah !  that  can  hardly  have 
been  miserable,  with  pupils  like  you,  young  ladies! 
We  can  hardly  regret  that  she  was  compelled  tem- 
porarily to  leave  her  own  sphere  for  the  purpose  of 
educating  you  to  fill  yours   so  charmingly." 

"  You  are  flattering  Miss  Sullivan  through  us," 
retorted  Diana.  "  We  thank  you  in  her  name.  You 
cannot  praise  her  too  highly.  She  is  wise  and  good 
and  noble.  Only  I  could  wish  that  she  were  not  so 
sad." 


172  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  Let  us  hope  that  her  spirits  will  improve,  now 
that  she  is  rich  in  the  means  to  do  good,"  Belden 
said. 

In  the  same  laudatory  strain  he  spoke  of  Mr. 
Waddy. 

"  He,  also,  was  one  of  my  playmates.  We  have 
been  separated  for  several  years,  but  I  hope  to 
revive  our  old  intimacy  here." 

"  Was  he  always  the  same  odd,  hasty,  irascible, 
placable  person?"  asked  Clara. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Belden ;  "  we  called  him  at  school 
Ira  the  Irate.  It  was  always  a  tropical  climate 
wherever  he  was.  I  do  not  wonder  he  found  our 
boreal  Boston  too  chilly  for  his  nature." 

"  He  does  not  resemble  at  all  the  typical  nabob," 
observed  Diana.  "He  is  not  fat  and  curry-coloured. 
He  does  not  wear  yellow  slippers  and  Madras  cra- 
vats and  queer  white  clothes  of  the  last  cycle.  He 
sits  a  morning  with  us  and  does  not  ask  for  ale.  He 
doesn't  call  lunch  tiffin.  In  fact,  if  he  did  not  have  a 
Chinese  servant  and  smoke  an  immense  number  of 
cheroots,  one  could  scarcely  observe  anything  in 
which  he  differs  from  other  men  of  the  world." 

"  How  much  Chin  Chin  looks  like  Julia 
Wilkes's  friends,  Mr.  Cutus  and  Mr.  Fortisque," 
said  Clara. 

"  Those  two  unfortunate  youths,  with  chop-stick 
legs,  no  perceptible  moustache,  complexions  de  foie 
grasf  "  and  Belden  laughed.    "  The  bohoys  call  them 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  173 

Shanghais.  They  are  indeed  changeling  Chinese — 
not  quite  men.  There  is  in  South  America  one  va- 
riety of  monkey  that  has  a  moustache — most  have 
not — they  have  not." 

"  Why  does  Julia  allow  such  amorphous  objects 
to  be  perpetually  before  her?  "  asked  Diana. 

"  They  have  surrounded  her,"  Clara  replied. 
"  She  is  very  good-natured  and  not  very  wise.  One 
of  them  is  always  standing  sentinel.  I  suppose  no 
clever  man  likes  to  have  a  sprightly  fool  forever 
standing  by  and  filling  vacancy  with  smiling  dum- 
miness  while  he  is  talking.  So  the  clever  men  have 
actually  been  thrust  away  from  poor  Julia  by  these 
two  pertinacious  friends." 

"  Very  different  from  your  two  civilised  Cali- 
fornia friends,"  said  Belden,  still  in  a  complimen- 
tary vein. 

"Did  you  know  them  in  California?"  asked 
Diana. 

"  No ;  I  was  in  San  Francisco.  They  were  up 
the  country.  They  were  well  known  from  their 
efficiency  in  relieving  the  starved  emigration 
of  '49,  and  from  the  very  active  part  they  took 
[G —  d — n  them!]  in  making  California  a  free 
State." 

Belden  went  on  commending  judiciously  the 
friends,  whom  he  hated  on  general  principles  and 
found  in  his  way  at  present.  He  relieved  himself  by 
internal  salvos  of  cursing  and  achieved  his  object  of 


174  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

buttering  all  his  antagonists,  so  that  he  could  slip  by, 
as  he  hoped,  and  win  the  prize.  He  must  win.  Yes. 
Or  what? 

"  How  handsomely  he  spoke  of  Paulding  and 
Dunstan,"  said  Clara,  after  he  had  gone.  "  I  must 
learn  to  think  better  of  a  man  who  has  the  rare 
virtue  of  not  being  jealous." 

"  Can  it  be,"  said  Diana,  "  that  he  was  ever  at- 
tached to  Miss  Sullivan  ?  He  speaks  almost  tenderly 
of  her.  I  have  noticed  a  certain  coolness  or  awk- 
wardness between  them  hardly  to  be  accounted  for 
in  any  other  way.  If  it  is  so,  he  shows  another  rare 
trait,  that  of  remembering  without  unkindness  a 
woman  who  has  rejected  him." 

So  this  serpent  charmed  away  Clara's  prejudices, 
or  for  a  moment  persuaded  her  that  she  was  unjust, 
and  beguiled  Diana  into  something  more  like  in- 
timacy. They,  as  innocent  women,  knew  very  little 
of  the  man.  And,  indeed,  there  were  no  positive 
charges  against  him,  except  that  he  was  what  is 
pleasantly  called  a  "  lady-killer."  Their  gentlemen 
friends,  though  sharing  in  the  general  distrust  of 
him,  had  no  brother's  privilege  of  warning  against 
an  acquaintance,  if  merely  undesirable.  Therefore, 
the  ladies  did  not  hear  of  Mr.  Belden's  flirtation 
with  Mrs.  Budlong.  The  Waddies  did  not  know 
her.  Her  storming  of  good  society  had  taken  place 
during  their  absence.  Mr.  Belden,  in  reply  to  their 
inquiries,  spoke  of  her  with  respect. 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  175 

Diana,  at  this  time,  occasionally  felt  a  slight  re- 
currence of  that  pain  in  her  side  which  has  already 
been  noticed.  Once  when  Belden  was  accompany- 
ing her  in  a  ride,  a  privilege  he  now  frequently  had, 
this  pain  for  a  moment  overcame  her  terribly.  She 
would  have  fallen  but  for  his  ready  aid  and  judg- 
ment. She  was  restored  in  a  moment  and  insisted 
upon  continuing  her  ride.  Belden  was  even  better 
received  than  usual  when  he  called  in  the  evening  to 
make  proper  inquiries.  He  had  shown  a  very  re- 
spectful delicacy  and  was  rewarded  by  gratitude  and 
an  invitation  to  dinner.  He  congratulated  himself 
upon  his  luck  and  hoped  the  lady  would  faint  every 
day. 

Diana  was  seized  with  this  same  pain  one  evening 
when  she  was  sitting  a  little  apart  with  Dunstan. 
He  sprang  to  support  her.  She  had  strength  to 
repel  him,  almost  rudely.  Clara  retired  with  her  a 
moment  till  the  spasm  passed.  When  the  gentlemen 
took  their  leave,  which  they  did  immediately  upon 
the  ladies'  re-entrance,  Diana  gave  her  hand  to 
Dunstan,  as  if  to  apologise.  Her  manner  was  grave, 
even  solemn,  as  she  said  to  him  some  commonplaces 
of  thanks  for  his  intended  courtesy. 

Clara  felt  some  anxiety  for  her  sister-friend. 
What  meant  these  sudden  pains  ?  Diana  made  light 
of  them.  They  were  nothing,  transitory  only — a  re- 
minder of  an  unimportant  hurt  she  had  received  in 
Texas.    She  was  perfectly  well — and  so  she  seemed, 


176  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

brilliantly  full  of  life,  that  must  sing  and  laugh  and 
blush  at  each  emotion. 

There  arose  a  singular  coolness  between  the  sis- 
ters at  this  time — a  lover's  quarrel,  as  it  were;  and 
yet  no  quarrel,  but  a  seeming  hesitancy  before  some 
more  perfect  confidence.  They  were  more  affection- 
ate than  ever  when  together,  but  more  apart,  shun- 
ning each  other,  talking  of  trifles.  Clara  was  con- 
scious of  this  partial  estrangement.  In  fact,  it  was 
almost  wholly  on  her  side.  The  high  and  careless 
spirits  of  her  friend  seemed  to  jar  upon  her.  She 
seemed  to  long  for  solitude.  Anywhere  but  at 
Newport  in  the  summer,  she  might  have  indulged  in 
lonely  walks.  There  she  was  compelled  to  en- 
counter the  world  and  be  gay  with  it. 

But  she  grew  pale — they  told  her  so.  She  said  it 
was  moonshine.  And  so  it  was — beautiful  moon- 
shine— sweet,  melancholy  pallor;  but  bloom  was 
better.  Sorrow,  unmerited,  came  to  her — sorrow 
such  as  even  to  herself  she  could  not  confess.  The 
wish,  the  hope  that  she  would  not  admit,  for  all  its 
besetting  sieges,  would  make  her  untrue  to  herself 
and  disloyal  to  her  friend.  Disloyal  to  Diana — her 
rival!  The  first  was  as  far  from  her  thoughts  as 
the  last  seemed  unimaginable.  No  one  could  be  the 
rival  of  Diana! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MR.    BELDEN    CONTEMPLATES   VILLAINIES, 
NEW    AND   OLD 

BELDEN  was  the  only  guest  at  the  dinner  at 
Mr.  Waddie's  in  recognition  of  his  care  of 
Diana.  It  was  a  satisfactory  affair  to  him,  thcprin- 
cipal  actor.  The  to  eat  was  good;  the  to  drink 
sparkling ;  the  to  wit  brilliant ;  the  to  woo  he  thought 
promising. 

It  was  not  late  when  Mr.  Belden  reached  the  Mil- 
lard on  return  from  this  fortunate  occasion.  They 
were  hopping,  reciprocating  to  the  Nilvederes. 
There  was  tempting  wealth  of  etalage,  but  Belden 
slipped  through  the  side  door  and  up  to  his  room. 
He  took  from  one  of  his  double-locked  trunks  a 
small  tin  case,  such  as  men  who  have  securities 
keep  them  in.  He  unlocked  the  case  and  took  from 
it  a  bundle  of  papers,  old  papers  carefully  enveloped. 
They  were  endorsed  "  Ira  Waddy's  Letters." 

Belden  opened  the  parcel  and  looked  at  several  of 
the  letters.  Some  were  signed  "  Ira  Waddy,"  or 
"  Ira  " ;  some  "  Sally  Bishop."  They  were  such 
letters  as  some  women  exchange  with  some 
men,  but  such  as  only  vile  men  and  women  write. 

177 


178  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Belden  seemed  to  enjoy  the  tone  of  these  epistles 
hugely. 

"  What  a  bitch  that  girl  was,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  Waddy  missed  it  when  he  was  such  a  Puritan  with 
her.  She  was  a  bad  one  to  have  for  enemy.  She 
thought  getting  up  the  letters  a  glorious  joke.  How 
we  roared  over  some  passages.  I  think  I  should  have 
let  the  thing  drop  after  proposing  it,  if  she  hadn't 
been  so  mad  for  it.  It  was  a  devilish  risky  thing 
to  do.  The  fellow  would  kill  me  in  a  minute  if  he 
knew  it,  but  Sally  won't  peach  before  she  dies,  I 
think.  The  other  woman  is  safe,  damn  her!  She 
and  Waddy  are  the  only  two  people  that  ever  baf- 
fled me.  But  I've  had  what  I  call  a  neat  revenge — I 
should  think  so.  She  might  much  better  have 
smiled  upon  me  for  her  own  good.  As  to  Waddy, 
he  don't  seem  over-civil  now.  I  shouldn't  mind 
closing  the  whole  thing  up  by  shooting  him.  Miss 
Diana  seems  to  have  a  liking  for  fighting  men.  I'm 
getting  on  fast  with  her.  She's  a  little  of  a  bolter, 
but  I  can  soon  tame  her,  once  in  hand.  Well,  I 
thought  I  would  burn  these  letters,  but  they're  a 
little  too  rich.  When  I'm  engaged  to  her,  I'll 
burn  'em  and  reform.  Some  people  would  call  it 
forgery — writing  those  documents — bah!  what's 
forgery !  " 

He  began  scribbling  names  in  various  hands :  his 
own,  Ira  Waddy,  Diana,  Betty  Bud,  Bet  Budlong, 
Sally  Bishop,  Tootler,  Janeway,  Sullivan,  Perkins, 


Mr.   Waddy's   Return  179 

and  others,  just  as  recollection  seemed  to  associate 
those  whom  he  had  known  in  former  life  or 
now. 

While  he  was  scribbling,  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  door. 

"  Who's  there?  "  called  Belden,  tossing  the  papers 
into  their  case. 

"  Hit's  me,  sir,"  answered  a  cockney  voice. 

Belden  unlocked  the  door  and  admitted  a  very 
bandy-legged  groom,  neatly  enough  dressed,  but 
topped  by  a  most  knavish  head  and  face. 

"  Well,  Figgins,"  said  his  master,  "  what  do  you 
want?" 

"  Will  ye  'ave  Knockknees,  sir,  hin  the  mornink 
harely?    Ye  can  go  hon  the  beach  hat  sevenk." 

"  Bring  him  up  at  seven,  then ;  the  race  must  come 
off  now  in  a  few  days.  I'm  ringing  in  these  precious 
greenhorns.  They'll  all  run  their  damned  cows, 
but  they  haven't  got  enough  to  bleed  much.  I  want 
to  get  that  fellow  in  with  his  black  horse.  He'll 
bleed  gold.  Can  I  beat  him  on  the  square,  do  you 
think?" 

"  Hi  dunno,  sir,"  said  Figgins,  "  'e's  a  stepper, 
his  that  black.  Hi  never  see  such  a  'oss  for  clean 
goin'.  You  mout  beat,  hand  you  moutn't.  But 
p'r'aps  'e'll  be  summat  sick, — a  little  sick,  'nough  to 
take  the  edge  hoff  'im  hat  the  race." 

"  Perhaps  he  will,"  agreed  Belden,  instantly  ac- 
cepting the  hint.    "  You  might  look  at  him  once  or 


180  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

twice  and  let  me  know  whether  it's  likely.  You 
know  where  his  stable  is — can  you  get  in?  " 

"  There's  keys  to  be  'ad,  I  s'pose.  Do  you  want 
'im  to  show  hat  all?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  hope  he'll  be  well  enough  to  make 
good  play.  He  might  win  a  heat — then  I  can  get 
more  out  of  'em.  You  understand  ?  It  will  pay  you 
devilish  well  if  I  win  a  jolly  pile." 

"  Hi  see,  sir,"  said  Figgins,  and  with  a  furtive 
look  at  the  tin  case,  he  went  out. 

Belden  locked  the  case  and  put  it  away.  The  full 
luxurious  sound  of  music  from  the  hall  swelled  up 
again  after  a  pause  and  filled  the  room.  Some  men 
are  purified  from  baser  wishes  by  the  delicate  sen- 
sualities of  passionate  music;  but  not  such  men  as 
Belden. 

"  Ah,  a  galop !  "  he  thought.  "  I  must  go  down 
and  have  a  stampede  and  hug  with  Mrs.  Bud.  Dear 
Betty  Bud!  I  think  I  get  on  rather  faster  with  her 
than  with  Miss  Diana." 

He  went  to  the  glass  to  arrange  his  toilet  for 
the  deranging  struggles  of  the  hop.  He  did  not 
perceive  that  the  look  of  his  three  villainies  of  the 
evening  was  stamped  upon  his  face — three,  one  re- 
membered, two  meditated.  He  thought  it  was  the 
effect  of  age,  the  change  he  began  to  be  conscious 
of  in  his  appearance.  But  age,  of  those  whose  lives 
are  worthy  to  endure,  softens  and  tranquillises  ex- 
pression   and    harmonises    colouring;    it   does    not 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  181 

darken  the  shadows  where  they  had  grown  dark 
on  his  face,  nor  give  the  unpeaceful  and  uneasy 
look  he  had. 

"  I  must  hold  up  for  a  while,"  he  thought.  "  I 
wish  I  could  keep  away  from  that  damned  faro  place. 
My  luck  is  dished  lately.  However,  I'll  make  that 
race  square  the  accounts.  If  it  don't,  I'm  up  a 
tree." 

He  went  down  Jacob's  Ladder.  Millard's  parlour 
was  nearly  as  deserted  as  its  namesake  of  political 
supporters.  All  the  Millarders  and  the  Nilvederes, 
with  a  decimation  of  outsiders  and  farthermores, 
were  taking  their  constitutional  perspiration  bath  in 
the  dining  rooms — tables  having  been  turned  out  for 
the  occasion.  Trotting  polkas,  racking  redowas, 
cantering  waltzes,  galloping  galops — bipeds  were 
being  put  through  all  their  paces. 

The  old  flirtations  were  going  on  swimmingly  in 
the  damp  intervals  of  dance;  and  lo!  a  new  one. 
Bob  O'Link  was  for  the  first  time  devoted  to  Miss 
Anthrope.  That  strong-minded  young  person  had, 
in  the  most  feeble-minded  manner,  succumbed  at 
once  when  Bob  O'  suddenly  and  newly  appeared  in 
the  ballroom  and  unanimously  singled  her  out  for 
a  permanent  partner. 

"  Miss  Anthrope  has  decided  to  take  a  false  po- 
sition," said  Peter  Skerrett  to  Gyas  and  Cloanthus, 
who  were  swabbing  and  drying  off  at  the  door. 

"No!     Has  she,  though!"  said  Gyas.     "What 


1 82  Mr.   Waddy's   Return 

is  it?  She  looks  to  me  as  well  on  her  pins  as 
usual." 

"  She  is  going  to  marry  for  money — that  is  the 
false  position,  a  pillory  that  neither  man  nor  woman 
ever  escaped  from.  Well,  Bob  O'  will  stand  by  her 
better  than  most  fellows.  Look  at  the  chap.  He  is 
as  sure  to  win  in  love,  particularly  the  bought  va- 
riety, as  at  billiards." 

"  Stand  by,  Peter,"  said  Gyas ;  "  I'm  going  to  say 
a  good  thing.  Miss  Anthrope  will  be  linked  to  Link, 
in  the  links  of  high  man's  chain.  Capital,  isn't  it? 
Now,  Clo,  don't  you  get  ahead  of  me  and  say  that  to 
Julia." 

"  Honour  among  friends,"  returned  Cloanthus. 
"  I'll  take  you  odds,  Guy,  on  Bob  O'Link.  Ten  to 
one  he  gets  her  in  ten  days ;  five  to  one  in  five  days ; 
two  to  one  on  to-morrow — and  even  it's  done  to- 
night." 

"  You'd  better  save  your  money,  boys,"  said 
Peter.  "  Not  that  you'll  spend  it  in  charity,  but 
you'll  want  it  all  to  pay  what  you'll  lose  on  the  race 
Belden  is  getting  up." 

"  There  he  comes  now  with  Mrs.  Budlong,"  said 
Gyas  Cutus.  "  By  Golly,  isn't  she  a  stunner !  Bel- 
den looks  deuced  hard  to-night." 

"  You'll  find  him  hard  enough — hard  as  one  of 
Millard's  eggs.  I  recommend  you  both  to  keep  away 
from  him  and  his  horse,"  said  Peter. 

Here  the  music  struck  up  a  galop  and  the  two 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  183 

flexible  youths,  pocketing  their  moist  batistes,  tore 
wildly  into  the  affray.  Mr.  Belden  dashed  by  with 
Mrs.  Budlong  in  his  arms. 

He  had  found  her  tete-a-tete  with  De  Chateau- 
neant.  Their  whispered  conversation  closed  as  Bel- 
den approached,  and  bowed  his  request  for  a  dance. 
"  Hot  nubbless  "  looked  after  her  wickedly  as  she 
moved  away. 

Sir  Comeguys,  passing  with  Granby,  looked  into 
the  parlour.  Sir  Com  saw  the  Frenchman  standing 
there  with  his  vicious  look  and  his  clenched  fist. 

"  Gwanby,"  said  the  bold  and  battailous  Briton, 
"  I  can't  be  wong — that  is  the  scoundwel  that  helped 
to  wob  me  in  Pawis.  He  called  himself  Lavallette 
then,  or  some  such  name." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  BRAVE  PREPARE  FOR  A  RACE,  THE   FAIR  FOR  A 
PICNIC 

NEXT  morning  after  Millard's  hop,  several  of 
our  acquaintance  met  on  the  piazza. 
"What  happened  at  the  subscription  party  last 
night?"  asked  Peter  Skerrett  of  Gyas,  who  looked 
blue  and  slumbrous  as  a  night  policeman. 

"  They  didn't  do  a  very  heavy  business,"  re- 
sponded Guy.  "Lob  Lolly  subscribed  three  hun- 
dred. Hobble  de  Hoy  collected  two-fifty.  Belden 
lost  like  leaking.  De  Chateauneant  was  collecting 
pretty  well,  till  Sir  Com  Ambient  came  in  and  sat 
down  opposite ;  then  he  seemed  to  get  flustrated,  sub- 
scribed once  or  twice,  and  went  away." 

"  What  an  astonishing  feller  that  Belden  is !  "  said 
Cloanthus.  "There  he  comes  in  on  Knockknees, 
and  we've  only  just  grubbed." 

Belden  gave  his  horse  to  Figgins  and  lounged  up 
the  steps.  He  affected  a  dignified  indifference  with 
the  younger  men  generally,  but  this  morning  he  was 
quite  gracious.  They  were  discussing  the  prelimi- 
naries of  the  race.  They  had  talked  of  a  steeple- 
chase, but  the  riders  did  not  come  forward  very 
freely,  and  they  had  determined  to  have  a  formal 

184  » 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  185 

race;  mile  heats  on  the  second  beach,  best  two  in 
three,  free  to  all  ages,  no  handicap — in  short,  a  kind 
of  scrub  race. 

While  they  were  talking  it  over,  Chin  Chin 
brought  up  Pallid.  Mr.  Waddy  was  going  for  a 
morning  ride  with  Clara  and  Diana.  There  were 
divers  opinions  on  Pallid's  merits.  Some  of  them 
said  he  was  too  handsome  to  make  time — "  a  good  un 
to  go  should  always  be  a  bad  un  to  look  at,"  and  there 
were  instances  enough  on  this  side.  There  were  also 
abundant  instances  on  the  other.  In  short,  no  one 
had  seen  him  put  to  his  speed,  and  none  could  do 
more  than  conjecture  how  low  he  would  go  down 
in  the  seconds.  A  very  few  seconds  make  the  great 
differences  in  horses,  as  the  minor,  imperceptible 
charms  distinguish  between  the  few  beautiful  and 
the  many  pretty  among  women.  It  was  conceded 
that  it  was  a  sin  to  race  on  the  beach.  "  The  horses' 
feet  will  be  ruined;  the  beach  is  as  hard  as  Maca- 
dam." But  they  had  determined  to  do  it.  There 
was  an  eclat  about  the  beach  that  no  other  place 
could  have. 

Belden  said  that  Pallid  was  a  very  fine  animal — 
the  handsomest  horse  he  knew — very  fast,  too ;  very 
fast.  He  was  surprised  that  Mr.  Waddy  had  not 
entered  him.  Perhaps  Mr.  Waddy  did  not  want  to 
win  their  money — very  likely!  He  couldn't  know, 
of  course,  anything  about  the  comparative  powers 
of  the  two  horses,  but  if  Pallid  were  in  the  race,  he 


1 86  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

wouldn't  fear  to  back  his  horse  against  him  for  a 
thousand. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  for  an  offer?  "  asked  Major 
Granby,  joining  the  group. 

"  I  would  make  it  one  if  the  horse  were  in  the 
race,"  answered  Belden. 

"  This  is  getting  interesting,"  said  Peter  Sker- 
rett;  "  and  just  in  time  here  comes  Dunstan,  and  Mr. 
Waddy  to  speak  for  himself." 

The  boys  crowded  round  Mr.  Waddy  to  persuade 
him  to  enter  his  horse.  Guy  and  Clo  wished  to  see 
Belden  beat;  he  had  scoffed  at  them  for  being  im- 
berb. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Waddy,  "  anything  to 
please  the  children ;  but  I  can't  ride  him  myself.  I 
carry  too  much  weight  for  a  race.  Pallid's  only  five. 
I  say,  Dunstan,  don't  you  want  to  ride  him?  You 
are  just  my  height — five  feet  ten — but  then  I  out- 
weigh you  fifteen  pounds — two  pounds  a  year  for 
the  difference  in  our  ages." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  said  Dunstan,  "  if  you'll 
trust  me.  Is  there  anything  on  it  besides  the 
stakes?" 

"  That  is  as  Mr.  Belden  pleases,"  said  Granby. 
"  Do  you  hold  to  the  offer?  " 

"  Certainly,"  responded  Belden,  and  the  bet  was 
booked. 

"  If  I  were  betting  with  Belden,"  said  Gyas,  aside 
to  Peter  Skerrett,  "  I  should  want  stakes  up." 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  187 

"  You  would  behave  with  your  usual  asinine  in- 
decorum, Guy,  my  boy,  if  you  hinted  such  a  thing. 
Belden  is  not  a  man  to  back  down.  He'd  rather 
murder  somebody  and  get  the  money.  If  he  loses, 
he'll  pay.  But  he  don't  intend  to  lose.  He  knows 
his  horse,  and  I'd  advise  you  not  to  bet  against  him. 
In  fact,  the  best  thing  you  and  Clo  can  do  is  to  stop 
betting  entirely  and  put  your  money  in  your  old 
boots.  I've  been  talking  like  a  father  to  you  two  for 
years,  and  you  don't  improve." 

"Why,  what  do  you  want  us  to  do,  Peter?" 
asked  they  penitently,  by  Gyas,  principal  spokesman. 
"  Everybody  is  down  on  us.  We  try  to  do  the  fair 
thing.  We  pay  our  tailor's  bills  and  don't  smoke 
over  five  cigars  a  day.  We  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Miss  Sullivan,  up  at  The  Island  this  summer,  used 
to  pitch  into  us  and  say  we  ought  to  have  ambition. 
Well,  I  did  try  politics  once  and  went  to  the  polls  to 
vote.  There  was  an  Irish  beggar  who  swore  he'd 
seen  me  vote  twice  before.  That  rather  knocked  my 
politics.  I've  read  all  Thackeray,  and  Buck  on  the 
*  Sublime,'  and  Tennyson's  '  Sacred  Memories/ 
and  the  '  Pickwick  Club.'  Then  about  religion — 
I'll  be  blowed  if  I  can  keep  awake  in  church.  It's  no 
go.  I  try  every  Sunday.  The  Doctor  can't  do  it, 
and  he's  allowed  to  be  the  best  preacher  in  the  world. 
I  get  asleep  and  have  bustin'  nightmares  on  account 
of  the  painted  windows." 

"  Well,  try  to  be  good  boys.     Don't  bet,  and  I'll 


1 88  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

see  if  I  can  think  of  something  for  you,"  said 
Peter. 

The  season  was  drawing  to  a  close.  There  had 
been  no  earthquakes  of  excitement,  no  avalanches  of 
clean  or  dirty  scandal.  Indeed,  since  the  Pithwitch 
oration,  there  had  been  no  event  at  Newport.  Peo- 
ple actually  began  to  talk  of  going  away  too  soon. 
The  race,  then,  was  the  right  thing  at  the  right 
time.  People  began  to  talk  of  it  astonishingly. 
Major  Granby  had,  people  said,  ten  thousand 
dollars  bet  with  Mr.  Belden.  Major  Granby  was, 
so  report  alleged,  a  younger  son  of  the  Marquis 
of  Grimilkin,  and  had  made  an  enormous  for- 
tune on  the  turf.  Rev.  Theo.  Logge  said  that  he 
disapproved  very  much  of  betting,  but  that  he 
should  ask  the  winner  to  contribute  to  the  Cause 
— he  did  not  say  whether  the  Lee  Scuppernong 
cause  or  not.  He  hoped  that  his  sister  in  the 
faith,  Mrs.  Grognon,  would  not  interrupt  her  drive 
to  the  beach  for  these  carnal  excitements.  Per- 
haps it  was  as  well  that  she  should  see  the  race,  to 
know  for  the  future  what  to  avoid.  He  would  es- 
cort her  and  gain  experience,  which  would  be  val- 
uable to  him  in  warning  young  men  not  to  go  to 
such  scenes  of  temptation. 

All  the  ladies  became  partisans.  Miss  Milly 
Center  asked  Mr.  Dulger  if  he  should  ride. 

"  I've  no  horse,"  said  Billy,  safe  in  that  negation. 

"  But,"  said  Miss  Millicent,  "  Sir  Com  Ambient 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  189 

has  none,  and  he  says  he  intends  to  hire  one  just  for 
the  fun  of  the  start." 

Unhappy  Billy  Dulger,  whom  nature  did  not 
shape  to  fit  a  saddle,  must  not  be  outdone  by  Sir  Com, 
whom  Milly  quoted  constantly.  Billy  consulted  a 
livery-stable  man.  This  personage  provided  Billy 
with  a  four-legged  quadruped. 

"  He  won't  win  the  first  heat,"  said  the  man, 
"  nor  perhaps  the  second ;  but  git  him  through  those, 
and  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  at  anything." 

Bob  O'Link  entered  his  horse.  Miss  Anthrope, 
her  nature  seemingly  changed  with  her  proximate 
change  of  name,  hung  about  him  tenderly,  praying 
him  not  to  ride.  She  preferred  that  he  should  not  be 
killed,  for  with  his  death  would  die  Mrs.  O'Link  in 
posse. 

Blinders  entered  a  headlong  steed.  He  generally 
rode  him  with  two  snaffles,  one  around  his  waist,  the 
other  in  his  two  hands.  Blinders  did  not  talk  about 
his  horse.  He  was  a  fellow  who  always  went  slap 
at  anything  without  a  word ;  but  he  looked  at  all  the 
horses  and  thought  his  own  chance  was  good.  His 
horse  was  called  Nosegay,  on  account  of  the  gayness 
of  his  nose. 

Little  Skibbereen  besieged  his  mamma  to  let  him 
enter  with  Gossoon,  but  mamma  had  prejudices 
against  the  breaking  of  Skibby's  neck.  Scalper, 
the  artist,  arrived  in  time.  He  would  ride  Gossoon, 
who    was   one  of   the   favourites.     Unfortunately, 


190  Mr.   Waddy's   Return 

Scalper  was  too  amusing  a  fellow  not  to  be  fat,  and 
he  outweighted  Gossoon. 

Guy  and  Clo,  though  fortes  ambo  in  a  buggy,  were 
not  accustomed  to  bestride  the  prancing  steed. 
Paulding  reserved  himself  to  drive  Diana  and  Clara. 

There  was  question  between  Tim  Budlong  and  De 
Chateauneant  which  should  bounce  upon  Drummer. 
When  the  Gaul  discovered  that  Sir  Comeguys  was 
to  contend,  he  remembered  that  Drummer  seemed  to 
have  unreasonable  prejudices  against  him,  and  if  he 
should  endeavour  to  subdue  that  very  priceless  steed 
with  spiteful  whip  and  spur,  some  displeasure  might 
arise  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Budlong.  Tim  therefore 
proposed  himself  and  Drummer  for  victory,  and  the 
fair  Saccharissa  Mellasys  bestowed  upon  him  a 
lovely  jockey  cap  of  blue  and  white  satin  gores. 
Tim's  face  was  by  this  time  pale  and  flabby,  and  he 
did  not  look  the  handsomer  for  his  fresh  headpiece. 

Thus,  a  field  of  eight  was  entered,  as  many  as 
could  conveniently  start  on  the  beach.  Peter  Sker- 
rett,  by  common  consent,  became  the  impresario  of 
the  occasion.  Interest  rather  centred  upon  Pallid 
and  Knockknees  on  account  of  the  bet  pending. 
Some  of  the  knowing  ones  backed  Blinders  and 
Nosegay  for  the  purse.  A  few  trusted  to  Bob 
O'Link's  personal  reputation  for  luck,  and  one  or 
two  backed  Drummer,  thinking  Tim  could  not  pos- 
sibly persuade  him  to  be  beaten. 

While  the  gentlemen  were  thus  ardently  preparing 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  191 

for  their  Olympic  games,  the  ladies  also  had  their 
scheme  of  festivity. 

"  What  shall  we  do  for  Milly  Center  on  her  birth- 
day? "  asked  Mrs.  Wilkes,  that  unwearied  chaperon. 

Miss  Millicent  was  not  too  old  to  have  a  birth- 
day on  the  day  before  the  race.  Mr.  Dulger  was 
aware  of  this  epoch  and  had  written  to  Bridgeman 
for  a  barrel  of  flowers.  Dulger's  clerkly  salary — for 
his  stern  papa  kept  him  on  a  salary  much  too  exig- 
uous for  his  exigencies — his  salary  hardly  sufficed 
for  his  systematic  floral  tributes.  He  had  been 
obliged  to  write  to  the  bookkeeper  in  Front  Street 
for  another  temporary  loan.  Billy  had  presenti- 
ments that  the  crisis  of  his  fate  was  at  hand.  He 
would  not  fail  at  the  last  for  want  of  sufficient  in- 
vestment. A  flower  barrel  was  a  grandiose  gift. 
He  was  confident  that  no  one  else  had  thought  of  it. 
True  love  makes  a  Dulger  a  genius.  If  the  wooed 
could  not  be  won  by  a  barrel  of  flowers,  he  would 
forever  fly  her  false  toleration  and  among  the  flour 
barrels  toilsomely  regain  his  wasted-  bouquet  money. 
Poor  Billy  Dulger!  So  long  a  Tolerated,  he  was 
weary  of  this  "  longing  much,  hoping  little,  asking 
naught. " 

"  How  shall  Milly's  birthday  be  honoured?  "  was, 
however,  still  a  question  for  the  generality.  Each 
suggested  other  things  and  a  picnic. 

"  A  picnic,  of  course,"  said  the  masterly  Mrs. 
WTilkes. 


192  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  To  the  Dumplings,  of  course." 

"  Yes,  of  course." 

"  Why,  yes ;  how  could  we  think  of  anything 
else?" 

"  With  a  band,"  said  Julia,  "  and  dancing  on  the 
grass." 

"  With  a  boatload  of  champagne,"  said  Clo- 
anthus. 

"  No  flirtations  allowed,"  suggested  Peter  Sker- 
rett. 

"No?  Well,  then,  flirtations  compulsory;  first, 
with  Miss  Milly,  Queen  of  the  Day,  afterwards  with 
our  private  Queens  of  Hearts,"  and  he  chanted, 

"  The  Queen  of  Hearts  she  brought  some  Tarts 
Unto  a  Picnic  gay; 
The  King  of  Hearts  he  ate  the  Tarts 
And  gave  his  Heart  away." 

It  is  not  very  important,  but  be  it  hereby  known 
unto  thee,  O  outsider  of  Kenosha,  Stamboul,  Fond 
du  Lac,  Paris,  Natchez  under  the  Hill,  London, 
Lecompton,  or  Jerusalem !  that  the  Dumplings  of 
Newport  is  an  old  stone  fort,  not  are  certain 
apples  enclosed  in  certain  unwholesome  strata  of 
dough. 

Picnics  go  to  the  Dumplings  as  a  shad  to  fresh 
water  in  spring,  as  a  moth  to  a  candle,  as  a  swain  to 
a  nymph.  They  go  there  in  boats  over  the  smooth 
bay,  across  the  strait,  where  a  soft,  lulling  prolonga- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  193 

tion  of  the  distant  ocean  swell  reaches  the  navigator 
with  sweet  reminder  motion.  When  picnics  arrive 
at  the  Dumplings,  they  stroll  about;  their  better 
halves  are  handed  over  the  rocks  by  their  worse 
halves ;  they  view  that  crumbling,  cheese-shaped  ob- 
ject, the  fort,  and  say  sweet  things  of  salt  water  and 
sunshine.  They  chat.  They  romp.  Then  comes  the 
climax — to  eat  the  picnic.  Picnics  are  properly 
eaten  with  the  fingers.  The  idea  is  to  return  to 
Arcadian  manners. 

Picnics  being  well  known  by  all  the  fair  and  brave, 
who  deserve  each  other,  as  so  charming  and  offering 
such  charming  opportunities  for  attaining  their 
deserts,  there  is  no  wonder  that  everyone  was  de- 
lighted with  Mrs.  Wilkes's  scheme.  Miss  Millicent, 
as  the  heroine  of  the  occasion,  gave  deep  thought  to 
her  toilet.  She  was  resolved  to  be  captivating  as 
Miss  Millicent,  that  is  for  herself;  not  as  Miss  Cen- 
ter, that  is  for  her  fortune.  She  had  always  adorers 
enough,  besides  the  inevitable  Dulger,  but  he  was 
her  thrall  and  the  others  she  had  flirted  through. 
She  had  been  observed  to  be  dissatisfied  of  late.  Was 
it  that  she  had  failed  with  Sir  Comeguys  ?  Or  did 
some  other  novelty  refuse  to  enter  her  toils?  Or 
was  there  some  escaped  one  whom  she  wished  to  be- 
guile back  again  with  penitential  wiles  ?  Or  was  she 
a  little  ashamed  of  her  exacting,  not  immoral, 
cicisbeism  with  poor  Billy?  For  whatever  reason, 
Miss  Milly  seemed  a  little  disappointed,  and  Mrs. 


194  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

Wilkes,  not  thinking  it  proper  that  any  of  her  pro- 
tegees should  be  out  of  spirits,  hoped  well  of  the  pic- 
nic, that  it  would  restore  the  heiress  to  amiability. 
So  Mrs.  Wilkes  shopped  extravagantly  with  Miss 
Milly  and  the  girls. 

Clara  and  Diana  were  of  course  to  be  of  the  party. 
They  were  really  the  belles.  The  men  who  fell  in 
love  with  Diana  that  summer,  and  some  of  them 
were  stanch  old  belle-ringers,  say  that  she  was  the 
culmination;  that  there  never  was  and  never  will 
be  another  like  her.  And  then,  some  stanchest  old 
member  of  the  pack  gives  tongue  and  says  "  Except 
Clara,"  and  the  whole  pack  cry  "  Except  Clara  " — 
Clara  not  second  in  order,  but  only  subsequent  in 
thought. 

Everybody,  in  a  word,  was  to  be  at  the  picnic. 
Everybody  means  thirty  or  forty  people.  Good  Mrs. 
Wilkes  had  a  moment's  hesitation  about  Mrs.  Bud- 
long,  and  privately  consulted  Peter  Skerrett,  her 
Grand  Vizier.  Peter,  with  his  usual  thoughtful- 
ness,  pointed  out  that  Miss  Arabella  couldn't  go 
without  her  mother ;  so  Mrs.  B.  was  invited.  Mrs. 
Aquiline,  nee  Retroussee,  had  recently  begun  a  dead 
set  at  Mr.  Waddy.  She  engaged  ardently  in  the 
project.  There  would  be  a  band  and  a  boatload  of 
champagne  and  a  sail  home  by  moonlight. 

In  short,  Miss  Milly  Center's  birthday  picnic  was 
to  be  the  event  of  the  season.  Her  spirits  rose  as 
she  beheld  her  most  becoming  dress,  and  she  prog- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  195 

nosticated  for  herself  no  solemn  epoch  of  repentance 
and  reform,  but  an  auroral  dawn  of  new  flirtations 
with  full  recovery  of  all  the  old,  an  annus  mirabilis 
of  social  success  and  scores  of  manly  hearts  trampled 
under  foot. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

miss  center's  birthday  party  and  what  oc- 
curred THEREAT 

THE  fateful  day  dawned.  Fair  were  the  omens 
of  the  morning ;  full  their  accomplishment  as 
day  culminated.  Oh,  what  a  parade  there  was! 
Chiefly  and  Chieftainly  the  Millard  sent  forth  its 
fleet  full  of  younkers  and  prodigals  and  "  skarfed 
barks,"  flaggy  with  dizzy  floating  of  ribbons.  Com- 
modore Mrs.  Wilkes  headed  this  centre  of  the  squad- 
ron. Commodore?  I  will  rather  say  Admiral  of  all 
the  grades,  red,  white,  and  blue;  liberie,  tgalite,  fra- 
ternity— these,  under  her  admiral  conduct,  were  to 
be  the  watchwords  of  the  day.  And  now  from  many 
a  cottage  of  gentility,  from  many  a  sham  chateau,  if 
possible  more  genteel,  they  were  pouring  and  throng- 
ing in  full-sailed  bravery  toward  the  rendezvous. 

They  were  landed  in  a  lovely  cove  near  the  Dump- 
lings. Mr.  Dulger  was  ardent  in  his  endeavours  to 
aid  the  Queen  of  the  Day,  Miss  Millicent,  in  disem- 
barking; so  ardent  that  Nemesis  thought  he  needed 
quenching,  and  so  quenched  him  a  little.  He  slipped 
knee-deep  into  the  water  with  a  ducking  splash. 
Dunstan  handed  the  lady  out,  while  Peter  Skerrett 
picked  Billy  up  with  a  mild  reproof. 

196 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  197 

The  party  was  one  of  many  elements ;  these  soon 
grouped  or  paired  in  elemental  concord,  and  all  the 
slopes  were  gay  with  the  sight  of  lolly  circles,  and 
jocund  with  the  sound  of  their  lively  laughter.  The 
band  piped  unto  them  and  somewhat  they  essayed  to 
dance  upon  the  undulating  sward.  It  was  remarked 
by  the  Millarders  that  Mr.  Belden  and  Mrs.  Budlong 
were  absent  a  long  time,  and  that  afterwards  he  was 
very  devoted  to  Diana.  It  was  also  remarked  that 
Miss  Arabella  was  getting  tired  of  the  Frenchman. 
Dear  me !  how  people  do  remark  things. 

Mr.  Waddy  did  not  feel  out  of  place  at  the  picnic, 
because,  as  a  man  of  the  universal  world,  he  was  al- 
ways in  place;  but  he  was  out  of  spirits.  Tootler 
wrote  no  more.  Ira  was  wretched  with  suspenses 
and  suspicions.  Poor  old  Budlong — here  was  this 
wife  of  his  hardly  concealing  her  intrigue  with  Bel- 
den— her  second  intrigue,  and  this  time  not  with  a 
blackleg,  but  with  one  whom,  he  feared,  was  a  vil- 
lain. Belden,  too,  was  intimate  with  Diana,  fa- 
voured by  Clara ;  and  Ira  could  not  warn  them.  He 
had  nothing  except  suspicion.  His  judgment,  sharp- 
ened by  this,  saw  Belden  as  he  was — plausible,  flat- 
tering, laborious  to  please,  cautious  of  offence, 
clever,  experienced,  a  man  of  that  very  dangerous 
class  who  see  the  better  and  follow  the  worse.  Mr. 
Waddy,  therefore,  seeing  Belden's  success,  was 
filled  with  wrath.  The  old  man  Ira  began  to  take 
control  of  his  lately  stoical  nature. 


198  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  I'm  getting  dangerous,"  he  felt;  and  not  all  the 
petting  of  Mrs.  Aquiline,  nor  all  the  attentions  of  the 
daughtery  mothers  and  nubile  daughters,  could  dis- 
tract him  or  make  him  distracted  from  this  ugly 
presence  of  hateful  thoughts.  He  observed  that 
Belden  was  uneasy  when  he  was  by,  and  concealed 
his  unease  by  a  seeming  cordiality.  Mr.  Waddy  be- 
gan to  tingle  with  a  nervous  sensation  of  presenti- 
ment that  there  was  to  be  a  crisis,  an  explanation,  a 
punishment,  a  vengeance — what  and  for  what  he 
could  not  yet  foresee. 

By-and-by,  the  happy  moment  arrived  for  which 
all  other  deeds  at  a  picnic  are  only  preparatory.  The 
edible  and  potable  picnic  was  announced  as  ready  to 
be  eaten  and  drunk,  and  a  truly  Apician  banquet  it 
was — thanks  to  Mrs.  Wilkes,  experienced  giver  of 
dinners  and  liberal  feeder  of  mankind.  Some  of  the 
banqueting  was  very  pretty  to  behold.  Fair  ladies 
are  not  ignoble  in  the  act  of  taking  ladylike  prov- 
ender. But  it  must  also  be  allowed  that  some  of  the 
banqueting  was  not  so  pretty. 

"  Look  at  Rev.  Theo.  Logge,"  said  Peter  Sker- 
rett  to  Ambient ;  "he  pretends  to  wish  that 

"  'All  the  world 
Should  in  a  pet  of  temperance  feed  on  pulse, 
Drink  the  clear  stream ' 

But  observe,  that  is  not  pulse  he  eats,  but  pate  of 
Strasburg,    and    what    he    is    pouring   down    is    a 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  199 

stream,  to  be  sure,  a  large  one  and  clear,  but  it  comes 
from  a  very  poptious  bottle.  I  cannot  think  it 
water." 

"  I  say,  Peter,"  says  Guy,  "  let's  fuddle  the  Rev." 

"  Guyas  Cutus,"  reproved  Peter  gravely,  "  you 
are  a  pagan.  I  have  frequently  remarked  that  dif- 
ference between  Cloanthus  and  you.  You  are  a 
pagan  and  swear  '  I  Gaads.'  He  is  a  monotheist  and 
swears  '  I  Gaad."  In  this  case  you  can  spare  your- 
self a  sacrilege.  Mr.  Logge  is  fuddling  himself. 
Hillo,"  he  added,  looking  up  suddenly  as  a  cork 
struck  him  hard  on  the  ear. 

De  Chateauneant  had  opened  a  champagne  bottle 
carelessly  and  had  not  only  bombarded  Peter,  but 
had  deluged  Sir  Comeguys.  Sir  Com  looked  quietly 
at  the  Frenchman,  waiting  for  an  apology;  none 
came,  but  the  bottle-holder  gave  a  blackguard  laugh. 
He  must  have  been  a  little  elated  by  drinking,  and 
reckless.  Miss  Arabella  had  been  particularly  cool 
to  him  all  day,  and  it  had  taken  much  wine  to 
counterbalance  his  chagrin.  No  one  saw  the  little 
scene  except  Blinders  and  Mrs.  Budlong,  and  the 
banquet  went  on  and  off  brilliantly. 

While  the  gentlemen  were  lighting  cigars  and  sep- 
arating for  a  few  moments  from  the  ladies,  Blinders 
tapped  De  Chateauneant  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Sir  Com  Ambient  would  like  to  say  a  word  to 
you  behind  the  hill  yonder,"  he  said  with  a  meaning 
look.    "  I'll  see  fair  play  for  you." 


200  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Auguste  Henri,  who  had  continued  his  draughts 
intemperately,  first  turned  pale  and  then  blustered 
and  vinously  vapoured  that  he  would  not  go  at  any 
man's  dictation — he  didn't  owe  any  apology  to  "  ce 
niais." 

"  You've  got  to  go,"  said  Blinders  calmly,  but 
with  conviction.  "  You  needn't  make  any  apology 
for  insulting  him  as  you  did.  But  you  must  stand 
up  to  the  rack,  or  you  can't  stay  here." 

So  Blinders  quietly  led  off  his  man,  cursing  in 
French  like  the  rattlingof  a  locomotive.  They  found 
Peter  Skerrett  and  Sir  Com  waiting  behind  the  hill. 
The  latter  had  his  coat  off,  and  was  tramping  this 
way  and  that,  like  a  polar  bear  in  a  cage. 

"  Your  name  is  Pierre  Le  Valet,"  said  Ambient. 
"  You  needn't  lie  about  it.  Skewwett,  show  Blinders 
the  handkerchief.  Fve  been  sure  for  some  time  you 
were  one  of  those  damn  thieves  that  gouged  me  in 
Pawis.  Now  I  know  it  by  your  looks  and  by  that 
name.  You've  behaved  like  a  blackguard  to-day, 
and  I'm  going  to  lick  you,  if  I  can,  on  the  spot.  You 
know,  Blinders,  what  the  fellow  has  been  doing  here 
— cheating  evewybody." 

"Take  off  your  coat,  Mr.  Le  Valet,"  said 
Blinders,  "  and  thank  your  stars  you've  one  gentle- 
man to  thrash  you  and  another  to  stand  by  and  see 
you're  not  killed." 

The  detected  blackleg  made  a  treacherous  rush  at 
Ambient,  furious  and  intending  to  try  some  shabby 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  201 

trick  of  a  savate,  but  a  solid  one,  two  smote  his 
countenance  and  floored,  or  rather,  turfed  him. 
As  he  did  not  come  up  to  time,  Ambient  took 
from  Blinders  a  light  Malacca  joint  and  wallopped 
the  skulking  wretch  until  he  began  to  scream  for 
mercy.  By  this  time,  the  facial  one,  two  had  de- 
veloped into  two  ugly  black  eyes.  "  Hot  nubbless  " 
was  unpresentable,  and  Peter  and  Blinders  led  him 
off  to  a  boat  and  sent  him  away,  swearing  venge- 
ance spitefully. 

"  What  can  he  do,  Peter?  "  asked  Blinders. 

"  Harm,  I'm  afraid,  to  someone,"  replied  Peter, 
thinking  how  he  had  come  into  possession  of  the 
handkerchief  and  doubting  much  whether  he  had 
done  right  to  show  it.  "  What  shall  we  say  of  his 
absence — that  perfidious  Albion  and  proud  Gallia 
had  a  contest  as  to  who  was  victor  at  Waterloo?  " 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Monsieur  De 
Chateauneant  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Budlong,  looking 
sharply  at  the  two,  as  they  walked  back. 

"  He  had  a  bad  head,"  replied  Peter  innocently, 
"  and  thought  he  would  be  better  at  home.  We  have 
charged  ourselves  with  his  excuses." 

After  the  banquet,  Clara  and  Diana,  with  the  two 
other  members  of  their  quartette,  had  retired  apart 
from  the  crowd.  It  was  almost  sunset.  They  had 
chosen  a  vantage  point  of  vision  just  at  the  summit 
of  a  soft  slope,  commanding  the  old  fort  and  the  bay. 


202  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

The  boats  lay  picturesquely  grouped  in  front.  The 
wash  of  waves  sent  up  a  pleasant,  calming  music. 
They  were  alone,  except  when  some  promenading 
couple  passed  at  the  distance.  Paulding  was  lying 
half-hid  by  the  short  sweet-fern  bushes,  smoking 
lazily.  Clara  was  near  him.  Diana  and  Dunstan 
were  at  a  little  distance,  so  that  a  slight  modulation 
of  the  voice  made  conversation  joint  or  separate. 
Diana  had  been  the  gay  one  thus  far;  but  now  the 
pensiveness  of  evening  seemed  to  quiet  her. 

"  The  sky  and  water  and  those  mossy  rocks  re- 
mind me  of  Mr.  Kensett's  pictures,"  Clara  said. 
"  He  seems  to  have  been  created  to  paint  Newport 
delightfully." 

"  Rather  Newport  for  him  to  paint,"  corrected 
Diana,  "  as  the  world  was  made  for  man,  the  im- 
mortal. Besides,  Mr.  Kensett  is  not  narrowed  to 
Newport  for  his  subjects.  I  notice  that  so  many  of 
you  who  know  him  speak  of  him  by  his  prenom. 
Only  very  genial  men  are  so  fortunate  as  to  be 
treated  with  this  familiarity,  even  by  their  friends." 

"  He  is  indeed  genial — one  of  the  men  whose 
personal,  apart  from  his  artistic  life,  is  for  the  sunny 
happiness  of  those  who  know  him.  Apropos  of 
prenoms,  Miss  Clara,"  continued  Dunstan,  "  pray 
what  melodious,  terminal  syllables  belong  to  your 
father's  initial,  W.  ?  G.  W. — his  G.  is  George,  I 
know.    His  W.  is  what?  " 

"It    is    an    old    family    name,"    replied    Clara; 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  203 

"  Whitegift.  My  father  is  fond  of  genealogy  and 
traces  the  name  to  a  relative,  a  Bishop  Whitegift." 

"  An  odd  name,"  said  Dunstan.  "  I  seem  to  have 
heard  it  before.  Ah,  now  I  recollect  having  read  in 
some  old  family  manuscript  that  my  ancestor,  Miles 
Standish,  had  some  feud  with  a  Pilgrim  of  that 
name." 

Clara  laughed.  "  You  must  talk  with  Mr.  Ira 
Waddy.  He  has  a  legend  that  the  first  Waddy, 
Whitegift  by  name,  was  cook  of  the  Mayflower,  and 
that  there  grew  a  feud  between  him  and  Miles 
Standish.  The  cook  put  too  little  pepper  in  the 
hero's  porridge.  Hence  an  abiding  curse,  which 
Mr.  Waddy  says  depressed  his  branch  of  the  family 
until  his  time.  He  represents  the  democratic  side  of 
our  history.  My  father  rather  scoffs  at  the  legend. 
I  must  tell  him  the  odd  confirmation  of  it  from  you. 
It  will  shock  his  aristocratic  feelings  terribly." 

"  Bah !  for  the  legend,"  said  Dunstan.  "  Your 
ancestors,  fair  lady,  were  gods  and  goddesses  of 
other  realms  than  those  dusky  and  too  savoury  ones 
where  cooks  do  reign  supreme.  But  I  cannot  permit 
my  ancestor's  curse  to  rest  longer  upon  you.  In  my 
capacity  as  his  representative,  in  eldest  line,  I  wave 
my  hand.  The  curse  is  revoked,  nay,  changed 
to  a  blessing.  The  old  feud  is  at  an  end.  It 
will  never  be  revived  between  us.  We  shall  never 
quarrel." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Clara,  and  turning  away  ab- 


204  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

ruptly,  she  renewed  her  conversation  with  Paulding 
apart. 

"  You  accent  the  •  we,'  "  said  Diana,  "  as  if  you 
could  imagine  yourself  quarrelling  with  other 
women." 

"  Yes,"  said  he;  "  why  not?  But  women  have  al- 
ways the  advantage  of  us  in  a  quarrel.  We  can 
compel  a  man  traitor  or  wrong-doer  to  pistol  or 
rifle  practice.  If  he  shirks,  he  becomes  a  colonist  of 
Coventry.  But  a  woman  shelters  herself  behind  her 
sex  and  dodges  the  duello.  There  ought  to  be  a  code 
of  honour  for  them  also." 

"  There  is — in  the  hearts  of  the  honourable,"  said 
she. 

"Ah,  yes!  but  who  are  they?  How  are  we  to 
know  them,  except  by  those  very  tests  that  we  can- 
not apply  until  falseness  and  dishonour  on  the 
woman's  part  will  be  to  us  the  cause  of  bitter  wrong, 
such  as  a  man  should  pay  us  with  his  life?  " 

"  So  you  would  challenge  the  gay  deceiver  to 
mortal  combat?  Weapons,  a  fan  against  a  pocket- 
comb,  across  a  skein  of  sewing-silk.  Hail !  O  At- 
tila!  scourge  of  Flirtationdom !  Newport  will  be 
depopulated  when  your  plan  prevails." 

"  Depopulated  of  gay  deceivers  and  their  victims. 
You  and  I,  Miss  Clara  and  Paulding,  would  be  left 
to  weep  over  the  slain  and  strew  their  graves  with 
old  bouquet  leaves.  But  pity  the  sorrows  of  the 
young  heroes,  murdered  now  and  unavenged,  while 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  205 

their  murderesses  sing  their  siren  song  to  annual 
freshmen." 

"  But  why  do  your  freshmen  listen  to  siren 
songs  ? " 

"  Freshmen  love  music  and  are  unfamiliar  with 
sirens.  And  even  men  no  longer  so  fresh,  who  have 
been  forced  to  hear  sorrowful  songs,  may  mistake 
siren  song  for  angel  song.  Harmony  is  so  rare  and 
so  heavenly.  We  hear  it  one  day,  and  land.  We 
meet  no  chilling  reception ;  the  siren  sings  on  sweetly. 
The  dewy  violet  and  the  thornless  rose  are  still  worn 
and  the  young  heart  or  the  weary  heart  has  but  one 
word  more  cf  passion  to  say.  The  third  and  last 
degree  of  lovers'  lessons  waits  to  be  taken,  lip  to  lip. 
But — Halte  Id!  l  Will  you  walkout  of  my  parlour  ?  ' 
says  the  spider  to  the  fly.  '  Certainly,  fair  tarantula, 
since  you  insist  upon  it.'  Another  freshman  is  on 
the  threshold,  or  another  not-so-very-fresh  may  be 
wooed  into  the  web.  Continue,  pretty  dear,  your 
wanton  wiles.  Sing  away,  Siren,  seeming  angel. 
We  are  out.  Adieu!"  and  Dunstan,  whose  cigar 
was  smoked  to  the  thick,  drew  an  immense  puff  and 
breathing  out  a  perfect  ring,  deposited  it  upon  his  en- 
gagement finger.  He  held  up  his  hand,  while  the 
smoke  slowly  drifted  away  in  the  still,  warm  air. 

Diana  laughed.  "  Very  well  done,  the  ring  and 
the  description.  But  the  termination  was  rather  too 
contemptuous  for  the  poetry  of  the  beginning." 

"  Was  it?  "  said  he.    "  Contempt  is  not  a  pleasant 


206  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

feeling.  I  supposed  myself  too  old  to  express,  if  not 
to  have  it." 

"  Did  you  mean  your  history,"  asked  Diana,  "  for 
the  epitaph  of  a  dead  love?  " 

"A  dead  love?  No!  Diana,  no!  It  was  the  hie 
jacet  on  the  cenotaph  of  a  hundred  buried  flirtations 
— my  own  and  other  men's.  Not  all  of  them  can 
chisel  the  inscription  as  coolly  as  I  do,  nor  be  as  in- 
dulgent as  I  am  to  the  memory  of  the  names  in- 
scribed.   But  love!    Love  is  undying!  " 

As  he  said  this,  they  heard  a  little  rustle  and  a 
sigh  near  them.  They  turned.  It  was  Miss  Milly 
Center.  She  had  heard,  perhaps,  all  the  conversa- 
tion. She  rose  and  seemed  about  to  speak,  but  her 
effort  ended  in  something  like  a  sob,  and  two  rather 
well-made  tears  started  and  overran  her  cheeks. 

Just  then  a  cheerful  voice  came  over  the  hill : 

"  '  Oh,    Susannah !    don't    you    cry    for    me ' ' 

and  a  very  shiny  glazed  hat  with  a  black  ribbon, 
such  as  is  some  men's  ideal  of  "  the  thing  "  for  a 
head-piece  at  a  water-party,  appeared.  This  hat 
was  on  the  top  of  Billy  Dulger. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,  Miss  Milly,"  he  cried, 
"  and  wondering  where  you  had  wandered  to." 

"  I'm  very  glad  you  have  found  me,"  said 
she.  "  I  don't  care  to  be  third  in  either  of  these 
duos." 

She  had  whisked  away  her  tears  before  she  turned 
to  answer  Billy  Dulger's  hail,  and  now  with  a  smile 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  207 

she  took  his  arm  and  walked  away.  But  it  was  not 
a  very  happy  smile. 

Clara  and  Paulding  had  not  perceived  her  presence 
until  Dulger  appeared;  they  were  too  distant  to 
hear  the  conversation  just  interrupted,  or  to  observe 
her  confusion. 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Center  recognised  herself  in  the 
heroine  of  your  tale,"  said  Diana.  "  Do  you  know 
the  hero?  It  must  have  happened  long  ago.  I 
think  you  have  made  Mr.  Dulger's  fortune.  He  has 
been  a  faithful  swain,  I  hear.  So  you  think  that, 
though  flirtations  may,  love  cannot  die  ?  " 

"  Diana,"  he  began,  and  it  was  the  second  time  he 
had  addressed  her  thus.  He  paused;  the  sun  had 
just  set.  A  flash  and  burst  of  white  smoke  shot 
from  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Adams,  across  the  strait. 
It  was  the  sunset  gun.  A  great,  massive,  booming 
crash  came  over  the  water,  and  then,  eagerly,  tu- 
multuously  chasing  it,  a  throng  of  echoes  followed. 

"  O  love,  they  die  in  yon  rich  sky, 
They  faint  on  hill  or  field  or  river: 
Our  echoes  roll  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  grow  forever  and  forever." 

"  Diana,"  continued  Dunstan,  "  let  us  walk  a 
little." 

They  went  on  for  a  few  steps  in  silence,  her  arm 
in  his.  They  had  not  noticed  the  direction  they  took, 
and  these  few  steps  brought  them  over  the  crest 


208  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

above  the  banqueting  spot.  Several  of  the  party 
were  gathered  about  Mrs.  Wilkes  and  aiding  her  in 
arranging  for  return. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Dunstan,"  cried  Mrs.  Wilkes,  catch- 
ing sight  of  him  as  he  was  turning  back.  "  You  are 
just  the  person  I  wanted  to  select  Mrs.  Wellabout's 
forks  and  Mrs.  Skibbereen's  spoons.  No !  no !  I 
can't  excuse  you.  Young  men  must  make  them- 
selves useful  at  my  picnics.  You've  had  the  belle 
long  enough.  She  must  be  tired  of  you  by  this  time. 
I  understand  what  it  means  when  ladies  bring  their 
cavaliers  back  to  the  chaperon's  neighbourhood." 

Dunstan  half  uttered  an  ugly  Spanish  oath. 
Diana,  half-hearing,  gave  him  a  reproving  look. 
Belden  and  another  gentleman  approached  and 
Dunstan  was  dragged  off  to  identify  spoons  and 
forks.  He  recognised  all  his  obligations  to  Mrs. 
Wilkes,  and  did  his  best  to  help  that  busy  lady 
through  her  embarrassments  with  clumsy  servants. 
He  did  not  even  break  plates  and  dishes.  Men  who 
have  had  their  California  or  frontier  experience, 
understand  themselves  in  crockery  and  cookery. 
Still,  at  this  moment,  he  would  have  preferred  not  to 
be  so  useful. 

And  now  Mrs.  Wilkes,  like  a  wise  mother  of  an 
errant  brood,  began  to  sound  her  homeward  notes 
of  recall.  The  roll  of  the  party  began  to  complete 
itself.  Someone  asked,  "Where  is  Diana?" 
Where,  indeed? 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  209 

"  I  saw  her  walking  off  alone  towards  the  Dump- 
lings some  time  ago,"  Gyas  Cutus  said.  "  I  asked  if 
she  wanted  a  companion  and  she  said  no — so  I 
thought  I  wouldn't  go." 

"  You  may  go  and  look  for  her,  Mr.  Dunstan," 
said  the  chaperon,  "  as  payment  for  your  industry." 

Dunstan  sprang  up  and  non  scese,no,  precipito 
down  the  hillside.  Clara  looked  anxiously  after 
him.  These  were  the  saddening  moments  of  twi- 
light, when  sunset  glories  are  gloom  and  we  are  not 
yet  quite  reconciled  to  night.  Some  one  of  the 
festal  party  said  that  the  evening  was  ominously 
beautiful — it  seemed  there  could  never  be  another  to 
compare  with  it.     Splendours  were  exhausted. 

The  Dumplings  stands  upon  a  low,  craggy  hillock 
at  the  water's  edge.  In  front  is  a  bit  of  precipice; 
then  a  scarped  slope,  covered  with  debris,  such  as 
bricks,  stones,  broken  bottles,  sardine  boxes,  and 
chicken  bones ;  then  rocks  again  and  water.  On  the 
landward  side  the  rough  hillock  is  still  steep,  but 
overcome  by  a  path  circling  the  crumbling  round  of 
the  fort.  This  path  is  rather  up  and  down,  enough 
so  to  blow  most  dowagers  and  duennas;  the  ascent 
has  therefore  its  great  uses  in  the  world,  and  many 
a  tender  word  has  been  gasped  from  panting  hearts 
of  those  who  panted  up  together,  eluding,  for  pre- 
cious moments,  the  stern  duenna  below. 

Dunstan  climbed  rapidly  up.  It  was  but  a  few 
steps,  yet  in  the  moment  all  that  had  ever  passed 


210  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

between  him  and  Diana  came  powerfully  back,  as  all 
the  sounds  of  a  lingering  storm  are  suddenly  em- 
bodied in  one  neighbour  thunder-clap,  and  all  its 
playfully  terrible  lightnings,  illuminating  scenes  far 
away,  concentre  in  the  keen  presence  and  absence  of 
the  flash  that  strikes  near  by.  The  evening,  whose 
ominous  beauty  had  impressed  him  also,  was  so  still 
that  he  could  hear  gushes  of  gay  laughter  from  the 
party.  He  could  see  nothing  of  Diana.  She  must 
be  within  the  fort.  As  he  stepped  along  the  narrow 
ledge  of  the  pathway,  he  checked  himself  an  instant 
before  entering  the  ruined  gateway,  and  called 
"  Diana !  "  No  answer !  Could  she  have  gone  else- 
where?   He  sprang  within  the  inclosure. 

Diana  was  there.  She  sat  leaning  against  an 
angle  of  the  crumbling  wall.  As  he  entered,  she 
turned  towards  him  a  ghastly  and  agonised  face. 
She  did  not  stir.  She  was  pressing  her  handker- 
chief to  her  arm.    He  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 

"  Blood!  blood  again!  "  he  said,  with  a  dreadful 
shudder.  "  It  shall  not  part  us  now — Diana,  my 
love!  my  love!  " 

He  took  her  very  tenderly  in  his  arms.  Blood  was 
flowing  freely  from  a  wound  in  her  arm.  He  tore 
off  his  cravat  and  checked  the  flow  and  was  binding 
the  place  with  his  handkerchief.  The  agonised  look 
on  her  face  changed  to  a  smile  of  gentleness. 

"  Harry/'  she  said,  "  this  is  nothing — a  scratch — 
I  fainted  and  fell.    That  was  the  old  wound.    I  am 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  211 

dying  with  the  old  wound.  Dying  to-day,  when  I 
was  happy  again — to-day,  when  I  know  you  love 
me  still." 

"  Love  you — oh,  Diana !  I  have  been  waiting 
through  all  this  long  despair  for  this  one  moment. 
I  knew  the  terror  must  pass  away  that  separated  us, 
and  now  a  new  terror  comes — the  old  wound — 
dying — no !  no !    Oh,  my  God !  " 

He  drew  back  and  looked  at  her.  There  was  no 
dreary  ghastliness  in  her  pallor.  He  took  her  in  his 
arms  again  for  one  long,  lover  kiss — one  long  kiss  of 
life  to  life  and  soul  to  soul.  In  that  kiss  all  their 
old  hopes  were  fulfilled ;  all  their  old  confidence  came 
back  again ;  all  doubt  and  hesitation  were  gone  for- 
ever. Fate,  that  was  so  cruel  to  them,  forgave  them 
again.  The  old  terror  between  them  had  slowly 
sunk  away,  like  a  vanishing,  ghostly  dream, — van- 
ishing as  light  of  heaven  grows  strong  and  clear  over 
the  soul.  The  blood  that  they  knew  of  on  each 
other's  hands  was  washed  and  worn  away,  flowing 
no  longer  between,  a  dark  line,  narrow  but  deep  as 
the  river  of  death. 

They  had  riven  their  last  embrace  long  ago,  be- 
cause a  death,  bloody  and  terrible,  beheld  them  with 
dead,  chilling  eyes.  Even  that  last  embrace,  with  all 
its  passionate  despair,  seemed  a  sacrilege,  a  repeated 
parricide.  What  if  the  murder  was  no  murder? 
Then  there  was  the  dead.  There,  studying  them 
with   staring  eyes,   staring  beyond  them   into  an 


212  Mr.  Waddy's   Return 

eternity  of  vengeance.  Was  that  a  place  for  love's 
endearments?  For  tenderness  dear  and  delicate? 
No!  no!  depart!  Fly,  lover!  Seek  thy  saddest 
exile !  Crush  thy  dear,  dear  longings !  Forget !  ah, 
yes,  forget!  That  guiltless  crime  they  knew  of 
severed  them.  Go!  Let  this  impossible  love  be 
crushed  or  forgotten. 

Crushed!  Forgotten!  These  despot  words  are 
uttered  easily;  but  all  the  while  they  know  their 
futileness.  Stronger  grows  mightiness  until  it  has 
prevailed.  And  love  is  the  strongest  strength.  This 
is  the  permanent  and  uncontrollable  victor,  stronger 
than  death. 

But  slowly  for  these  lovers  the  sense  of  their  guilt- 
lessness overcame  the  awe  of  crime.  Heaven  par- 
dons ah !  things  more  guilty  far,  than  their  unhappy 
and  bewildered  innocence.  They  saw  pardon  rising 
over  them,  pale  but  hopeful  as  the  twilight  of  dawn. 
And  when  this  pardon  overspread  their  hearts,  like 
the  throbbing  violet  of  daybreak,  and  the  pardoned 
lovers  met,  how  could  they  know  that  parting  had 
not  done  its  common  work  ?  All  common  loves  are 
slain  by  separation.  So  these  two  lovers  stood 
apart ;  each  ignorant  whether  Heaven  had  been  gen- 
erous to  the  other  of  its  gift  of  pardon,  and  each  un- 
willing, as  proud  souls  may  be,  to  hold  the  other  to 
old  pledges  and  perhaps  detested  bonds.  Apart,  but 
approaching  surely;  until  the  pleasant,  meaning 
playfulness  of  picnic  talk,  and  the  fateful  appari- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  213 

tion  of  the  flirt,  and  the  chance  confession  of  an  old, 
half-forgotten  folly,  had  revealed  to  them,  clear  as 
their  hopes  had  been,  the  certainty  of  their  love,  un- 
changed, unchangeable,  eternal,  infinite. 

He  had  taken  Diana  in  his  arms  again.  Her  hurt 
was  surely  not  grave,  a  cut  upon  her  arm  as  she 
fainted  and  fell.  But  again  another  spasm  of  paling 
agony  passed  over  her  face. 

"  The  old  wound,"  she  said  despairingly.  "  I  am 
fainting  again.     Take  me  to  Clara." 

He  lifted  her— she,  so  dying  as  it  seemed — he  so 
strong  in  his  heart's  agonies  of  death. 

He  did  not  note  it  then,  but  he  remembered  long 
afterward,  that  as  he  passed  from  the  fort,  the  moon 
was  rising  pale  and  solemn,  through  the  dull,  leaden 
blush,  reflected  from  sunset  upon  the  misty  east. 

The  gay  picnic  party  had  hardly  observed  Dun- 
stan's  brief  absence.  Clara  was  watching  the  fort, 
and  as  Dunstan  issued  with  his  burden,  she  ran 
wildly  down  the  slope.  She  met  them  at  the  foot  of 
the  escarpment.  Dunstan  had  found  himself  stag- 
gering at  the  last  few  steps  and  was  resting,  kneel- 
ing by  Diana.    Clara  knelt  by  his  side. 

"Dear  sister,"  said  Diana,  unclosing  her  eyes, 
and  seeming  to  revive  at  her  presence.  She  made  a 
feeble  movement  with  her  wounded  arm.  "  It  is 
nothing,  dear  Clara.  But  I  am  suffering  from  the 
old  pain.  Forgive  me  that  I  concealed  something. 
I  could  not  tell  you  all.     Now  I  can,  for  I  have 


214  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

found  my  old  unchanged  love.  We  will  rest  here  a 
moment.  I  grow  stronger.  Perhaps  I  can  walk  to 
the  boats.  Harry,  tell  her  all  our  sad  story.  Dear 
Clara !  " 

Dunstan,  in  a  few  quick  full  words,  gave  Clara  the 
history  of  their  love  and  their  parting.  Clara  lis- 
tened, divining  much  with  eager  interpretation. 

"  Dear  Diana !  Who  could  have  been  strong  to 
bear  this?  "  said  she.  "  Why  could  you  not  let  me 
comfort  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought,"  said  Diana,  "  that  there  was  to  be 
comfort  for  me  nevermore,  until  Miss  Sullivan  was 
my  angel  of  pardon.  Oh,  how  wise  and  good  she 
is!     My  mother — our  mother,  dear  sister." 

The  unwilling,  almost  unconscious  coldness  that 
had  withdrawn  Clara  from  her  friend,  had  utterly 
passed  away.  It  shamed  her  now  like  a  crime,  that 
uncontrollable  passion  had  made  her  an  unacknowl- 
edged, unperceived  rival.  But  the  harm  was  done, 
and  she  must  know  it  bitterly  in  her  heart  and  endure 
silently.  She  kissed  Diana  tenderly,  desolately,  and 
gave  her  hand  to  Dunstan.  They  felt  the  tenderness : 
they  could  not  see  the  desolation. 

Paulding,  who  had  been  at  the  boats,  bestowing 
paraphernalia,  now  appeared,  and  learning  from  the 
party  that  something  was  wrong,  he  came  swing- 
ing down  the  slope  with  giant  strides. 

"  I  can  walk  now,"  said  Diana.  "  To-day  speak 
to  Mr.  Paulding  and  the  others  only  of  my  fall  and 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  215 

the  cut;  that  explains  itself.  The  rest  by-and-by," 
and  she  smiled  hopefully  with  that  beautiful  smile, 
sadder  than  tears  to  those  who  behold  it  and  know 
the  hopelessness  of  its  deceiving  consolation. 

Paulding  came  up,  followed  by  Sir  Comeguys. 
Both  showed  great  concern  at  the  accident.  Diana 
thanked  them  and  said  that  she  hoped  it  was  only 
trifling,  though  a  shock  at  first.  She  then  walked 
slowly  to  the  boats,  clinging  to  Dunstan's  arm. 

Everyone  was  in  such  consternation  at  Diana's 
accident  that  she  made  efforts  to  recover  her  usual 
spirits  and  partly  succeeded.  Good  Mrs.  Wilkes 
must  not  be  mortified  by  a  calamity  at  her  picnic. 
All  the  men  who  did  not  venture  to  be  in  love  with 
Diana,  or  who  loved  elsewhere,  liked  her,  and  the 
ladies  were  not  jealous  of  so  unconscious  a  belle. 
She  had  breadths  of  sympathy.  Miss  Milly  Center, 
Queen  of  the  Birthday  Festival,  came  and  took 
Diana's  hand  softly  and  was  very  sorry.  And  when 
Diana  thanked  her  gently,  poor  Milly,  on  her  gay 
birthday,  burst  into  tears. 

In  Miss  Milly's  walk  with  Mr.  Dulger,  she  had 
been  very  exasperating.  There  was  no  object  she 
carried  that  she  did  not  drop,  and  few  that  she  did 
not  break  or  tear.  Poor  Billy  was  put  terribly  in 
fault  by  her  conduct.  He  could  not  endure  it  an- 
other day,  and  when  Milly  finally  crashed  her  para- 
sol into  a  bag  of  silk  filled  with  comminuted  whale- 
bone, and  said,  "  You  must  have  it  mended  to-mor- 


216  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

row  before  eleven,  Mr.  Dulger,  and  bring  it  to  me," 
he  resolved  to  make  the  morrow's  morn  the  crisis. 
It  should  end  for  better  or  for  worse,  for  richer  or 
for  poorer,  his  dumb  thraldom.  He  would  kick 
away  the  platform  and  be  a  dangler  no  more,  even  if 
he  broke  his  neck.    Courage,  Billy  Dulger ! 

Mr.  Belden  was  especially  distressed  at  the  acci- 
dent. In  fact,  he  seemed,  in  speaking  to  Clara,  to 
assume  a  right  to  more  than  friendly  sympathy. 
Clara  observed,  now  for  the  first  time,  that  singular 
resemblance  between  him  and  Dunstan.  She  saw 
why  Diana  had  allowed  an  intimacy. 

Clara,  studying  Belden's  face,  quickly  and  keenly, 
discovered  that  the  resemblance  was  not  a  pleasant 
one.    All  her  old  distrust  of  him  returned. 

"  Please  do  not  speak  of  it  to-day,  Mr.  Belden," 
she  thought  proper  to  say  to  him,  "  but  you  will  be 
glad  to  know  that  Diana  and  your  friend,  Mr.  Dun- 
stan, are  engaged.  It  is  an  old  affair  revived.  It 
began  in  Texas  a  long  time  ago." 

Belden,  with  his  usual  self-possession,  said  what 
was  friendly  and  commonplace  on  such  occasions. 
Clara  was  almost  deceived.  She  could  not  hear  the 
monosyllable  he  sent  out  with  a  blast,  as  he  turned 
toward  Mrs.  De  Flournoy. 

Admiral  Mrs.  Wilkes  re-embarked  her  party  for 
the  moonlight  sail.  Except  Diana's  accident,  which 
that  lady  made  light  of  to  the  happy  chaperon, 
everything  had  gone  on  and  off  most  prosperously. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  217 

It  was  whispered  that  Titania  had  accepted  Mr. 
Nicholas  Bottom,  the  millionaire ;  and  poor  Cinder- 
ella, whom  the  hostess  feared  might  be  neglected, 
had  been  walking  all  day  and  picking  buttercups 
with  Mr.  Oberon,  the  genius. 

So  with  the  faint  breeze  of  a  silent  night  of  sum- 
mer, they  drifted  across  the  bay,  away  along  the 
path  of  moonlight.  Song  and  gay  hail  and  answer 
passed  from  boat  to  boat  of  the  flotilla.  Delicious 
night !  Happy  world !  Fortunate  Miss  Milly  Cen- 
ter, with  such  a  joyous  birthday!  Kind  Mrs. 
Wilkes!     Universal  success!     Huzza! 

At  the  Millard,  Mr.  Waddy  and  Peter  Skerrett 
found  Mr.  Budlong  just  arrived.  He  came  up  to 
them  with  his  now  anxious  manner. 

"  That  beggar  of  a  Frenchman  has  come  home 
pretty  well  bunged  up,"  he  said.  "  He  has  sent 
word  that  he  wants  to  see  me.  I  wish  you  would  go, 
Peter,  my  boy,  and  talk  to  him.  I  can't  guess  what 
it  means.  If  he  wants  to  borrow  money,  lend 
him." 

Mrs.  Budlong  came  in  with  Belden.  She  gave  her 
husband  a  couple  of  fingers  of  welcome.  Millard's 
band  was  playing  and  she,  with  several  other  un- 
tiring females,  organised  a  hop. 

Peter  Skerrett  went  off  to  see  De  Chateauneant. 
It  was  late  when  he  came  down.  He  found  Mr. 
Waddy  waiting  on  the  piazza,  his  cigar  oddly  lurid 
in  the  mosquito  less  moonlight. 


21 8  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  He  makes  conditions,"  said  Peter,  "  the  infernal 
shabby  wretch !  He  says  if  they  don't  give  him 
Miss  Arabella,  he'll  expose  Mrs.  Budlong.  He  pre- 
tends to  have  proofs;  and  I'm  sorry  to  say  that  I 
fear  he  has  them.  I  could  have  beaten  him  to  death, 
the  contemptible  cuss !  if  he  hadn't  been  lying  there 
in  bed,  sick  and  swelled  like  a  pumpkin.  He  can't 
show  to-morrow  and  we  shall  have  all  day  to  work." 

"  He'll  sell  out,  won't  he,  Peter  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Waddy.  "  I  haven't  contributed  to  foreign  mis- 
sions yet,  and  here's  an  opportunity.  We'll  try  and 
arrange  it  to-morrow." 

Dunstan  called  late  at  Mr.  Waddie's.  Clara  saw 
him. 

"  Diana  is  doing  well,"  she  said.  "  We  will  have 
good  hope,"  and  in  her  fair  beauty  by  the  moonlight 
she  seemed  to  him  an  angel  of  hope.  He  could  not 
see  her  tears  as  she  turned  away  and  fled  from  him, 
and  from  herself,  to  Diana's  bedside. 

All  night  he  walked  and  wTandered  on  the  cliffs, 
watching  the  light  in  Diana's  window.  Sometimes 
he  thought  he  saw  another  figure  wandering  like 
himself ;  but  always  when  he  approached,  he  found 
some  uncertain  deceptive  object,  shrub  or  rock.  He 
was  alone  in  the  moonlight,  with  his  memories,  his 
hopes,  his  despairs.  Alone  in  the  wide  world  with 
his  love.  Dying?  No!  He  would  not  interpret 
thus  the  melancholy  fall  of  waves. 

Mr.  Belden  was  rather  late  that  night.     He  had 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  219 

been  walking  somewhere  with  Mrs.  Budlong — very 
late  somewhere  with  Mrs.  Budlong;  he  sat  in  his 
room  reflecting. 

"  Hell !  "  said  he  again.  "  I've  lost  the  Diana 
chance,  whether  she  meant  to  cheat  me  or  not. 
Well,  I'm  sure  of  my  bet  on  the  race;  and  if  the 
worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I'm  glad  to  know  that 
Betty  Bud  has  some  money  of  her  own.  I'm  sure 
of  her.    That  job  is  done." 

I  am  afraid  Belden  was  becoming  a  very  vulgar 
ruffian.  He  had  very  soon,  in  coarser  amours, 
drowned  his  first  disappointment  for  the  loss  of 
Diana. 


CHAPTER  XX 

CHIN  CHIN  AND  PETER  SKERRETT  SEIZE  THE   FORE- 
LOCK OF  OPPORTUNITY 

MR.  DULGER  arose  in  the  morning  dull  and 
early.  He  stood  several  hours  over  the  in- 
dustrious proletaire  who  was  mending  Miss  Center's 
parasol.  Meantime  Billy  smoked  weak  cigars,  pulled 
at  his  sporadic  moustache,  and  studied  at  a  formula 
of  words  he  meant  to  use,  but  would  forget. 

At  eleven,  he  might  have  been  seen  walking  in 
Millard's  halls,  uneasily,  with  a  neat  parasol  in  hand. 

At  11.03,  Miss  Millicent  descended  Jacob's  Lad- 
der equipped  for  a  walk.  She  was  evidently  ob- 
livious of  her  appointment,  and  taking  no  notice  of 
poor  Dulger  at  the  lower  turn  of  his  beat,  she  turned 
into  the  parlour  and  sat  there  quite  alone,  playing 
with  her  gloves.  Surely  she  was  waiting  for  some- 
one. 

Trepidatingly    Dulger    approached When 

they  returned  from  their  walk,  an  hour  afterward,  it 
was  announced,  proclaimed,  thundered,  through 
Millard's  and  through  Newport,  that  Miss  Center 
and  Mr.  Dulger  were  engaged.  Bulletins  to  that 
effect  were  dispatched  to  postoffices  from  the  Aroos- 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  221 

took  to  the  Rio  Grande,  as  members  of  Congress  say. 
Billy  telegraphed  to  his  friend,  the  bookkeeper,  to 
send  a  thousand-dollar  diamond  ring  from  Tiffany's 
by  express ;  it  came,  and  glittered  on  her  finger  that 
evening  at  the  hop.  Billy's  investment  for  the  ring 
was  one-tenth  of  one  per  cent,  on  her  million,  and, 
certes,  was  not  extravagant.  Rich  Milly!  Poor 
Milly!  Poor  Dulger!  Rich  Dulger!  Poor,  rich 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dulger! — the  man  never  forgetting 
his  long  and  sulky  apprenticeship — the  woman,  un- 
approached  any  more  by  exhilarating  flirtations,  and 
never  forgetting  that  her  yielding  was  part  com- 
punction and  part  pis-allerage.  So  ends  the  Billy- 
dulgerid. 

Dunstan  came  down  to  inquire  about  to-morrow's 
race.  Mr.  Waddy  begged  him  not  to  withdraw,  un- 
less Diana's  condition  should  be  critical.  No  one 
else  could  ride  Pallid.  Peter  Skerrett,  in  search  of 
Mr.  Waddy,  came  up  and  mentioned  the  new  en- 
gagement.   No  one  was  surprised. 

"  It  was  as  sure  as  shooting,"  said  Gyas  Cutus. 
"  He  treed  her.  I  gaads !  I  knew  she'd  have  to 
come  down.  He's  been  lamming  her  with  bouquets 
ever  since  she  came  out." 

"  And  now,"  says  Peter,  "  she  has  come  down  in 
a  shower  of  gold,  reversing  the  fable  of  Danae." 

"  There's  no  fable  about  the  million,"  said  Clo- 
anthus.  "  I  wonder  if  Billy  would  lend  me  a  V  on 
the  strength  of  it?" 


222  Mr.  Waddy' s  Return 

"  I  think  it's  a  case  of  depit  amoureux"  whis- 
pered to  Dunstan,  Peter  Skerrett,  penetrating  sage. 

Dunstan  said  nothing,  and  presently  walked  off. 
This  gossip  was  distressing  to  him;  he  could  only 
think  of  his  love  regained,  his  love  perhaps  dying. 
He  must  not  see  her  that  day.  Absolute  repose  was 
necessary. 

"  The  old  wound,"  he  thought;  "  the  old  wound," 
and  thinking  of  it,  he  shuddered  again. 

Peter  Skerrett  took  Mr.  Waddy's  arm,  and 
walked  him  away  to  a  quiet  corner. 

"  That  damned  scoundrel  of  a  Frenchman 
wouldn't  accept  your  proposition,"  he  began.  "  He 
said  it  was  wealth  for  him,  but  the  infernal  coxcomb 
also  said  he  wanted  to  range  himself  and  become 
a  virtuous  man,  and  a  happy  father  of  a  family.  He 
must  have  the  '  fair  Arabella,  whom  he  loved  and 
whom  he  believed  was  secluded  from  him  by  the 
decree  of  a  harsh  parent ' ;  some  such  stuff  he  uttered 
and  then  blew  a  kiss  from  his  bruised,  swelled  lips. 
Faugh!" 

Mr.  Waddy  echoed  the  exclamation ;  he  shared  in 
all  Peter's  disgust,  and  all  his  anxiety. 

"  It's  lucky,"  continued  Peter,  "  he  can't  come 
out  to-day.  Everyone's  inquiring  about  the  row, 
and  Sir  Comeguys  says  he  will  only  keep  still  until 
the  fellow  is  out  of  bed  and  able  to  speak  for  him- 
self." 

"  Well,"   said   Waddy,   as   Peter  paused   again, 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  223 

"what's  to  be  done?  Is  that  all  the  scoundrel 
said?" 

"  Not  by  a  blamed  sight ;  but  it's  so  damned  un- 
pleasant I  hate  to  repeat  it.  After  refusing  your 
offer,  he  repeated  his  threat  of  exposing  Mrs.  B., 
and  he  gave  me  details.  He  said  he  wanted  to  see 
her,  and  if  he  sent  a  waiter,  she  would  have  to  come. 
I  knew  that  would  never  do,  so  I  bullied  him  a  little 
and  said  I  would  see  her  myself.  By  Jove!  think 
what  a  box  I  was  getting  into.  Mrs.  B.  is  cool; 
perhaps  I  may  as  well  put  it,  brassy.  She  was  com- 
plimentary enough  to  say  that  she  was  surprised  a 
man  of  my  experience  should  listen  to  the  idle  talk 
of  a  man  bruised  and  angry ;  that  possibly  Arabella 
(blinking  entirely  the  question,  as  touching  herself 
— I  had  stated  his  threat  as  delicately  as  I  could) 
had  given  him  so  much  encouragement  as  to  per- 
suade him  he  had  rights.  Very  probably,  for  she 
herself  had  hoped  that  he  and  Arabella  would  make 
a  match,  and  still  hoped  it.  As  to  the  slanders  of 
that  young  brute  of  an  Englishman,  they  were  pure 
jealousy.  She  was  satisfied  of  De  Chateauneant's 
position,  and  thought  his  abuser  a  vile  coward  for 
profiting  by  his  personal  strength  to  put  a  rival  out 
of  the  way.  She  would  talk  over  the  matter  with 
Arabella  and  see  me  in  an  hour." 

"Yes?"  said  Waddy  encouragingly,  as  Peter 
paused  again,  choked  with  rage.  He  rather  won- 
dered at  Peter's  emotion,  for  that  gentleman  usually 


224  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

held  himself  well  in  hand — but  then  this  was  an  ex- 
traordinary case. 

"Well,"  continued  Peter,  "in  an  hour,  I  hap- 
pened to  pass  through  the  corridor.  Arabella,  cried 
to  a  perfect  jelly,  was  just  opening-  the  door  for  her 
mother.  How  the  harridan  must  have  been  bullying 
that  poor  girl !  And  yet  she  was  as  cool,  and  smil- 
ing, and  handsome,  as  if  she  was  coming  out  of 
St.  Aspasia's  after  her  Sunday  afternoon  nap.  She 
said  she  had  found  a  little  proper  ladylike  hesita- 
tion on  the  part  of  Miss  Arabella ;  that  young  ladies 
did  not  like  this  courting  by  proxy;  and  that  she 
had  no  doubt  that  when  De  Chateauneant  was  able 
to  plead  his  own  cause,  that  her  daughter's  long-ex- 
isting inclination  for  him  would  develop  immedi- 
ately into  the  desirable  degree  of  affection.  By 
Jove!  I  couldn't  help  admiring  the  woman  as  she 
stood  and  told  me  all  this,  perfectly  self-possessed, 
though  she  knew  I  believed  it  was  every  word  a  lie. 
Then  she  said  that,  as  I  was  quite  the  confidential 
friend  of  the  family,  she  would  ask  me  to  go  with 
her  to  M.  De  Chateauneant.  And  I  went !  What  do 
you  think  of  that,  Waddy?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  answered  Ira. 
"  And  yet  it  was  probably  the  best  thing  to  do." 

"  So  I  thought,"  agreed  Peter.  "  She  sat  down 
by  the  beggar's  bedside  and  told  him,  by  Jove !  that 
she  thought  he  needed  a  little  motherly  sympathy; 
that  she  had  always  looked  with  great  favour  upon 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  225 

his  suit  for  her  daughter,  and  that  she  hoped  and 
had  no  doubt  the  young  lady  would  smile  upon  him. 
She  could  promise  it,  in  fact,  after  an  interview  this 
morning.  I  tell  you,  Waddy,  she  took  my  breath 
away.    I  could  have  screamed  with  laughter/' 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Waddy  grimly.  "  How 
did  the  farce  end?  " 

"  It  ended  with  a  few  minutes'  earnest  whispering 
on  the  part  of  the  lady.  Then  she  got  up  tri- 
umphantly, and  that  blackguard  turned  his  ugly 
swollen  face  towards  me. 

" '  Monsieur  Skarrette,'  he  said,  in  his  dirty, 
broken  English,  '  I  veel  vate  faur  ze  promesse  auf 
Mees  Arabella  teele  aftare  to-morrah.  I  veel  not  be 
anie  maur  cheete.  Ef  she  do  not  agree,  I  sail  tale  all 
to  Meestare  Buddilung.' 

"  Well,"  continued  Peter,  "  I  was  white  hot — I 
don't  think  I  shall  be  ever  quite  so  angry  again — 
I  certainly  hope  not.  I  think  Mrs.  B.  saw  it  and 
feared  some  further  injury  to  the  Gaul,  for  she  said 
good-bye  hastily  and  carried  me  away  with  her. 
Out  in  the  hall,  she  turned  to  me  again,  cool  as  a 
cucumber. 

"  '  You  see  he  is  quite  reasonable,'  she  said,  with 
amazing  impudence,  '  though  naturally  rather  ar- 
dent for  his  object.  We  are  much  obliged  to  you, 
Mr.  Skerrett.' 

"  She  gave  me  her  hand  and  the  only  sign  of  emo- 
tion she  showed  in  the  whole  interview  was  to  grasp 


226  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

mine  like  a  vice.  A  few  minutes  afterward,  I  saw 
Belden  help  her  into  his  buggy  and  they  drove  off 
together.  Do  you  suppose  it  possible  that  she  medi- 
tates some  escapade  with  him?  Of  course  all  this 
couldn't  be  told  to  poor  old  Flirney;  he  should  be 
saved,  if  possible.  But  I  could  not  bear  to  think  of 
Arabella  being  the  victim  of  such  an  infernal  plot, 
without  a  friend.  The  matter  had  gone  too  far  for 
ceremony,  so  I  went  up  and  knocked  at  her  door. 
There  is  so  much  of  that  familiarity  going  on,  that  I 
supposed  no  one  would  notice  it.  She  opened  the 
door  and,  when  she  saw  me,  burst  into  tears.  I  felt 
so  sorry  for  the  poor  child  that  I  couldn't  help) " 

"  Oh,  you  did,  did  you?  "  interrupted  Ira,  seeing 
a  great  light. 

"  Yes,  I  did ;  and  she  shall  be  Mrs.  Peter  Skerrett, 
if  her  step-mother  is  a She  shall,  by  Jove !  " 

"  Peter,  you're  the  king  of  trumps !  "  cried  Mr. 
Waddy,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  And,  by  curry ! 
you  deserve  to  be  congratulated.      She's  a  nice  girl." 

"  She  is !  "  agreed  Peter,  with  conviction.  "  I've 
known  it  a  long  time.  Well,  to  return,  the  poor 
thing  was  actually  bewildered  with  terror.  She  said 
that  she  liked  the  fellow  well  enough  at  first — you 
know  he  has  the  talents  of  an  adventurer — he  flat- 
tered her  and  led  her  on,  always  speaking  French, 
until  he  had  got  up  a  great  intimacy.  Then  Mrs. 
Budlong, — she  no  longer  called  her  mother, — began 
to  persuade  her  to  accept  him,  and  then  to  treat  the 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  227 

matter  as  settled ;  and  then  to  bully  her  and  say  that 
her  honour  was  engaged,  and  her  character  would 
be  gone  if  she  did  not  marry  him. 

"  Imagine  the  poor  girl,  so  young,  and  totally  un- 
educated to  think  for  herself,  in  the  grasp  of  that 
infernal  crocodile!  Then  her  brother,  that  mean 
little  squirt,  Tim,  made  some  heavy  gambling  debts 
to  the  Frenchman,  and  he  told  her  he  thought  the 
marriage  was  just  the  thing,  and  wouldn't  listen  to 
a  word  from  her.  Mrs.  Budlong  said  that  her  father 
had  given  his  full  approval  to  the  match.  Arabella 
felt  utterly  abandoned,  and  I  do  believe  that  horrid 
hag  would  have  carried  her  point  before  this,  if  Am- 
bient hadn't  stepped  in  with  his  timely  licking.  At 
the  picnic  the  Frenchman  was  continuing  to  treat 
her  with  tyrannical  familiarity.  She  hated  him  so 
much  that  she  longed  to  go  to  Diana  and  Clara  for 
protection,  but  she  feared  they  would  think  her  a 
silly  little  snob  and  send  her  to  her  mother. 
Mother!"  repeated  Peter  with  emotion,  and  swal- 
lowed hard. 

Mr.  Waddy  also  felt  an  unaccustomed  lump  in  his 
gullet. 

"  Peter,"  said  he,  a  little  huskily,  "  I'm  proud  of 
you.  By  Jove!  I'm  proud  to  know  you.  You're  the 
best  man  in  the  lot.  The  rest  of  us  would  have  stood 
around  and  seen  that  girl  sent  to  the  devil  and  never 
have  lifted  a  finger  to  prevent  it." 

"  Oh,  come,"  protested  Peter,   "  I  know  better 


228  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

than  that.  And  then,  besides,  you  see,  you — you 
didn't  have  my  incentive.  She  needed  someone, 
Waddy;  she  said  she'd  always  thought  me  one  of 
her  best  friends — but  she  couldn't  speak  to  any 
gentleman  about  her  troubles,  much  less  me.  And 
then  she  began  to  cry  again  and  I  had  to  kiss  her 
again  like  a  brother  and  tell  her  that  I  zvas  her  best 
friend  and  would  save  her.  Luckily,  no  one  hap- 
pened to  pass;  so  I  let  her  sob  herself  quiet  in  my 
arms  and  told  her  to  have  courage  and  not  to  speak 
to  anyone  on  this  subject.  What  a  damnable  infamy 
it  is!  I  don't  care  for  Mrs.  Budlong,  and  would 
let  her  be  exposed  and  go  to  the  devil,  but  it  will 
kill  the  old  gentleman.  He's  a  good  old  boy,  and 
actually  loves  that  woman.  We  must  save  him  if 
we  can.  Here  is  old  Mellasys,  Saccharissa's  father; 
couldn't  we  get  him  to  kidnap  the  Frenchman  for 
a  fugitive  slave?  " 

"  Peter,"  said  Waddy,  "  we  may  get  the  French- 
man off,  but  there  is  left  behind  a  man  much  more 
dangerous  than  any  Frenchman — Belden!" 

About  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  Mr.  Waddy 
sent  Chin  Chin  to  inquire  of  Diana's  health.  On 
his  return,  Chin  Chin  made  a  circuit  to  a  shop  he 
knew  of.  His  object  was  lager  beer,  a  washy  bever- 
age, favoured  by  Chinamen,  Germans,  and  such  like 
plebeian  and  uncouth  populaces.  Feeling  sleepy  after 
his  draught,  he  gradually  subsided  into  a  ball  and 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  229 

sank  under  the  table.  Except,  perhaps,  Box  Brown 
and  Samuel  Adams,  packed  some  years  ago  by  John 
C.  Colt,  corner  Broadway  and  Chambers  Street,  no 
being  is  known,  bigger  than  an  armadillo  or  a 
hedgehog,  capable  of  such  compact  storage  as  a 
slumbering  Chinaman. 

Chin  Chin  under  the  table  was  therefore  not  per- 
ceived by  two  men  who  came  in  to  get  beer  and  mut- 
ter confidences  over  it.  He,  however,  waking  and 
craftily  not  stirring  until  he  could  do  so  without 
disturbing  legs  endowed  with  capacity  to  kick, 
heard  this  secret  parley.  He  could  not  recognise  the 
legs,  but  could  the  voices. 

As  soon  as  he  was  released,  he  ran  to  the  Millard, 
and  gave  his  message  to  Mr.  Waddy ;  then,  in  con- 
sequence of  the  beer-shop  discoveries,  he  crept  along 
like  a  quick  snake  to  his  master's  hired  stable.  The 
night  was  very  dark,  the  clouds  obstructing  the 
moon.  Chin  Chin's  mission  and  his  plan  were  per- 
fectly suited  to  his  crafty  Malayan  nature.  He  knew 
the  stable  intimately.  He  had  often  found  it  a  handy 
place  to  snooze  away  the  effects  of  beer  or  gluttony — 
larger  and  more  airy  than  his  usual  habitation,  and 
much  less  liable  to  rude  invasion.  He  had  prepared 
a  secret  means  of  ingress  and  egress ;  now,  after  a 
quick  glance  around,  he  glided  along  to  one  corner, 
moved  a  board  slightly  and  crept  inside  through  the 
crevice  thus  revealed. 

In  the  stable  were  Mr.  Waddy's  three  horses. 


230  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Pallid  stood  next  to  a  vacant  stall.  A  roughly  con- 
trived manger,  with  no  division,  passed  through  all 
the  stalls.  The  back  door  of  the  stable  opened  upon 
a  yard,  separated  by  a  low  fence  from  a  dark  lane. 
There  was  a  locked  door  through  this  fence ;  both  the 
stable  doors  were  also  locked. 

Pallid  recognised  the  Chinaman  and  whinnied  a 
welcome  nearly  as  articulate  as  the  other's  reply. 
Chin  Chin's  plan  was  already  laid.  He  did  not 
seem  to  need  light  to  execute  it.  He  groped  about 
for  a  billet  of  wood  in  a  spot  he  knew  of,  and  draw- 
ing a  fine  fishing  line  from  his  pocket,  made  it  fast 
to  the  billet,  which  he  then  threw  over  a  beam  run- 
ning the  length  of  the  stable.  He  drew  the  billet  up 
to  the  beam  by  his  line,  and  holding  the  end,  wormed 
himself  in  under  a  heap  of  hay  that  filled  the  stall 
next  to  Pallid's.  He  found  that,  without  changing 
his  position,  he  could  pass  his  hand  into  the  adjoin- 
ing manger.  It  seemed  he  had  a  fancy  of  possible 
danger,  for  he  took  from  his  breast  pocket  a 
perilous  piratical  knife  and  laid  it  in  the  manger  at 
his  side. 

"  Pigeon — all  same — Hi  yah !  "  said  he,  with 
gleaming  teeth  and  a  grin. 

Chin  Chin  waited,  probably  dreaming  of  the  Cen- 
tral Flowery  Land  and  fancying  himself  under  the 
shade  of  his  native  tea  plant,  offering  a  tidbit  of  rat 
pie  to  the  fair  Pettitoes  in  sabots,  skewered  hair, 
talon  finger-nails,  and  brocaded  raiment. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  231 

His  tender,  nostalgic  reverie  was  disturbed  by  the 
cautious  turning  of  a  key.  The  door  opened  and 
two  men  armed  with  a  slide  lantern  entered.  They 
drew  up  the  slide  and  stood  revealed,  a  precious 
pair,  Belden  and  Figgins,  come  to  superintend  the 
training  of  Pallid  for  to-morrow's  race. 

They  peered  cautiously  round  the  stable — nothing 
but  horses  and  hay.  They  could  not  see  that  snake- 
in-the-grass  watching  them  with  glittering  eye  and 
keen  delight. 

"  We  must  do  it  quick,  Figgy,"  said  Belden ; 
"give  me  the  ball.  You  hold  the  light.  Whoa, 
Pallid !  " 

He  stepped  to  the  stall,  and  patting  Pallid  on  the 
neck,  placed  a  very  suspicious-looking  horse-ball  in 
the  manger.  Pallid  was  beginning  to  turn  it  over 
and  sniff  at  it,  when — slam,  bang! — Chin  Chin  let 
go  the  billet.  It  crashed  to  the  floor,  knocking 
down  sundry  objects  with  a  terrible  clatter. 

The  conspirators  started,  looked  at  each  other 
fearfully,  and  sprang  back  as  if  to  escape.  The 
noise  ceasing,  they  looked  about  with  anxiety. 
Belden  caught  sight  of  the  billet  and  its  effects. 

"  Bah  !  "  said  he.  "  Nothing  but  a  stick  of  wood 
fallen  down "  and  turned  back  to  the  horse. 

Meantime,  under  cover  of  the  noise  and  panic, 
Chin  Chin  had  snatched  away  the  dosed  sausage 
from  Pallid's  manger,  and  thrown  in  a  handful  of 
oats.    The  horse  champed  them. 


232  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  The  greedy  brute  has  swallowed  his  pill  and  is 
licking  his  damned  chops,"  Belden  announced. 
"  Well,  you  black  devil,  so  much  for  you  for  throw- 
ing me,  and  so  much  for  your  master.  You  won't 
win  any  race  to-morrow  nor  this  year." 

Again  examining  suspiciously  everywhere,  they 
went  out  as  cautiously  as  they  had  entered. 

Chin  Chin  chuckled.  He  was  fond  of  Pallid  and 
fond  of  the  turf,  a  novel  fancy  for  a  Chinaman.  He 
knew  if  he  revealed  this  adventure  to  Mr.  Waddy, 
that  the  race  would  come  to  an  end,  so  far  as  that 
gentleman  was  concerned,  at  least.  Chin  Chin 
wanted  to  see  the  fun.  Unluckily  for  Figgins,  he 
had  bets  with  him.  Chin  Chin  determined  to  con- 
sider himself  the  executive  of  retribution  and  keep 
his  own  counsel  till  after  the  race.  He  looked  at  the 
ball ;  he  smelt  it. 

"  Pose  good  for  Chinaman,"  he  said,  "  ebryting 
all  same  pigeon  eat  em  rat ;  eat  em  puppy ;  pose  eat 
em  sossidge.    Hi  yah !  first  chop  good,  all  same." 

He  nibbled  a  little  bit,  ate  a  little  bit,  and  then 
looking  out  and  finding  the  coast  clear,  cautiously 
crept  homeward  in  the  shadow.  As  he  ate,  he 
seemed  at  first  very  well  satisfied,  then  less  satisfied, 
and  finally  not  at  all  satisfied,  and  throwing  away  the 
remnants  of  the  ball,  he  made  for  the  Millard,  press- 
ing both  his  hands  on  that  part  of  his  person  which 
seemed  the  centre  of  dissatisfaction. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  STORY  OF  DIANA  AND  ENDYMION 

DIANA  was  still  very  ill.  They  found  it  neces- 
sary to  keep  her  perfectly  quiet.  The  old 
wound,  never  fully  healed,  had  given  her  much  pain 
of  late.  Mental  excitement  at  the  picnic  and  her  fall 
had  produced  feverish  symptoms.  Her  physician  had 
fears  which  he  hardly  ventured  to  express;  which 
he  hardly  dared  formulate,  even  to  himself.  She 
had  aroused  herself  enough  during  the  day  to  send 
a  kind  message  by  Clara  to  Dunstan,  and  to  ask  that 
they  would  write  to  Miss  Sullivan  to  come  on. 
A  letter  to  that  lady  would  go  by  the  morning  mail 
to  Boston.  ' 

Dunstan  was  in  an  agony  of  suspense.  During 
the  day,  he  tried  to  distract  his  fixed  madness  of 
thought  by  training  Pallid  over  the  beach.  The 
other  men  were  also  out  on  the  beach  or  the  road. 
Bets  were  nearly  even  on  Pallid,  Knockknees,  and 
Nosegay.  Toward  evening,  Dunstan  mounted  his 
own  horse  and  galloped  off  up  the  island.  The  wild 
sunset  and  windy  drift  of  torn,  black  clouds  was 
such  a  mood  of  nature  as  suited  the  terror  at  his 
heart.  It  was  a  night  like  this  when,  in  Texas,  he 
had  started  from  San  Antonio  to  ride  sixty  miles 

233 


234  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

across  the  country  and  catch  his  train.  There  were 
such  stormy  masses  of  weird  clouds,  so  flashed 
through  by  an  August  moon,  so  floating  at  mid- 
night, when,  as  he  dashed  along  the  trail,  shouting  in 
savage  exhilaration,  all  the  wildness  of  his  nature 
bursting  forth  in  mad  songs  and  chants  of  Indian 
war,  suddenly  his  trusty  horse,  who  had  borne  him 
thousands  of  miles  in  safety  by  night  and  day,  over 
deserts  of  dust  and  wastes  of  snow,  fell  with  him,  on 
him,  crushing  him  terribly.  And  then,  by  just  such 
fitful  gleams  of  moonlight,  he  had  dragged  himself 
desolately  along,  with  unbroken  limbs,  but  mangled 
and  bleeding — dragged  himself  whither  he  saw  a 
midnight  lamp,  as  of  one  who  watched  the  sick  or 
the  dead.  And  near  the  spot  whence  the  light  came, 
he  had  sunk  voiceless,  fainting,  dying,  until  he  was 
awakened  by  a  tender  touch  upon  his  brow,  and  saw 
bending  over  him,  in  the  clear  quiet  of  midnight, 
Diana,  who  had  found  at  last  and  was  to  save  her 
Endymion :  Diana,  from  that  moment  to  become  the 
passion  of  his  every  instinct,  the  love  of  every 
thought. 

But  now,  now  it  was  she  who  was  the  wounded, 
the  fainted,  the  dying.  O  God!  he  could  not  think 
of  this  despair,  and  he  cried  aloud  and  galloped  on 
furiously.  The  drift  of  wild  black  clouds  followed 
him  as  he  rode  and  met  him  more  gloomily  as  he 
returned. 

He  could  not  rest,  and  soon  resumed  his  sentinel 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  235 

tramp  along  the  shore.  There  for  hours  he  walked, 
the  breakers  counting  his  moments  drearily.  The 
horizon  all  to  seaward  was  a  black  line,  and  over  it 
the  sky  was  lurid  blankness;  it  did  not  tempt  the 
voyaging  hope  to  circle  ocean,  chasing  distant  dawn. 
He  could  not  seek  a  refuge  for  his  miserable  hope- 
lessness in  that  reasoning  with  the  infinite  called 
prayer.  Was  it  to  make  him  happy  or  content  that 
men,  questioning  the  infinite  and  receiving  for  all 
answer,  "  Mystery!  "  had  essayed  for  themselves  to 
interpret  this  dim  oracle  and  had  feigned  to  find 
that  sorrows  and  agonies  are  strengthening  bless- 
ings ?  So  the  happy  and  the  placid  say :  so  say  not 
the  lonely  and  bereaved.  Pain  is  an  accursed  wrong, 
for  all  our  self -beguiling  and  self-flattery  in  its 
lulls. 

This  was  a  man  of  thorough,  tested  manhood. 
There  was  no  experience  that  educates  the  body  and 
the  mind  which  he  had  not  proved.  All  this  prepa- 
ration was  done ;  he  was  facing  the  duties  of  his  full 
manhood.  And  now  that  was  to  happen,  that  sor- 
row he  knew  must  come,  which  would  make  every 
effort  joyless,  every  achievement  a  vanity,  every  be- 
lief a  doubt,  every  day  sick  for  its  coming  night  of 
darkness,  and  every  morn  sad  for  its  uninvited 
dawning  and  eager  for  speedy  night. 

As  he  moved  along  the  shore,  he  was  aware  again, 
as  on  the  previous  night,  of  a  shadow  lurking  in 
the  dimness. 


236  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  Possibly  a  mischief-maker,"  he  thought,  and 
half-concealing  himself,  he  waited  to  watch.  The 
figure  approached — a  man.  He  stepped  forward  to 
meet  him  in  the  moonlight. 

"Paulding!" 

"  Dunstan !  " 

The  two  friends  had  not  met  since  the  picnic. 
Paulding  knew,  only  as  everyone  now  knew,  that 
his  friend  and  Diana  were  engaged.  He  therefore 
could  conceive  why  there  was  one  night  wanderer 
by  the  shore.  In  a  few  passionate  words,  he  told 
Dunstan  his  own  secret — the  secret  of  his  sorrowful 
unrest.    He,  too,  loved  Diana. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Dunstan  tenderly,  as  the 
other  sobbed  and  was  silent,  "  I  have  seemed  almost 
a  traitor  to  you  and  if  I  could  have  dreamed  of  this, 
I  would  have  even  violated  my  pledge  to  tell  you 
before  what  I  now  can  tell  permittedly.  I  was  too 
busy  with  my  own  happiness  in  recovering  Diana  to 
think  of  any  other  man  or  woman." 

"  Recovering  her?  "  repeated  Paulding.  "  Then 
you  had  already  met " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dunstan,  and  recounted  the  incident 
of  his  night  ride  from  San  Antonio  and  his  fall. 
"  Diana  went  out  upon  the  lawn,"  he  continued,  "  to 
study  the  moon,  her  emblem.  She  heard  my  moans. 
The  noble  woman  was  living  there  alone  with  her 
mother,  once  ruined  and  mad,  and  now  dying. 
Her  whole  household  consisted  of  a  few  negroes  and 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  237 

two  or  three  Mexican  servants.  When  I  awoke 
from  my  fainting  fit  and  found  her  stooping  over 
me,  I  knew  in  that  moment  that  she  was  to  be  the 
goddess  of  my  life.  Love  came  upon  me  like  a 
revelation.  She  had  me  taken  to  her  house,  and 
herself  dressed  my  wounds  and  cared  for  me.  You 
know  her  dignity  and  judgment  as  a  woman  of 
society,  but  you  may  hardly  imagine  the  energy  and 
skill  and  contrivance  and  fearless  delicacy  she 
showed  in  her  treatment  of  me,  as  I  lay  there  a  per- 
fectly helpless  invalid.  I  convalesced  slowly.  We 
found  that  our  worlds  of  society  and  thought  and  as- 
piration were  the  same.  The  circumstances  were 
what  are  called  romantic.  I  need  not  give  you  the 
history  of  my  growing  love.  You  know  the  woman. 
You  know  the  man.  It  was  fate.  Anywhere  it  must 
have  been  the  same;  there,  how  doubly  certain.  I 
have  never  known  any  being  like  Diana ;  fresh  and 
free  and  fearless  as  a  savage,  and  yet  the  heir  of  the 
beautiful  refinements  of  all  chivalric  ages.  Oh, 
Paulding — when  I  think  of  her,  as  I  knew  her  then, 
with  a  mind  and  character  of  an  empress,  and  her 
dear  tenderness  of  heart,  as  I  knew  her  and  loved 
her  then,  and  shall  forever,  I  cannot  let  her  die !  " 

He  groaned  and  was  silent  for  a  while.  The 
melancholy  crash  of  breakers  undertoned  his  story, 
and  now,  as  he  paused,  it  filled  the  interval  like  the 
unpeaceful  symphony  of  some  great  genius,  wasting 
itself  in  doleful  music. 


238  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  Diana  had  collected  in  that  distant  seclusion," 
he  went  on,  "  all  the  beautiful  necessities  of  elegant 
life.  We  had  books  and  music.  Our  acquaintance, 
friendship,  love  marched  strong  and  fast.  It  grew 
with  my  convalescence.  It  was  now  admitted  love. 
She  had  told  me  the  whole  of  her  mother's  sad 
story.  Her  mother  was  dying;  in  days,  weeks,  or 
months  it  would  be  all  over.  She  besought  me  to 
remain  and  not  leave  her  alone  with  death.  I  had 
never  seen  her  mother,  who  was  confined  entirely 
to  her  bed. 

"  You  remember  that  beautiful  bowie  knife  you 
gave  me  in  California.  One  day  I  was  sitting  on  the 
piazza  cleaning  that  and  my  six-shooter,  for  the  first 
time  since  my  fall.  I  had  given  the  knife  an  edge 
keen  as  a  gleam  and  was  trying  it  on  a  chip.  Sud- 
denly Diana  ran  out  to  me.  Her  mother  was  wild, 
she  said,  almost  in  convulsions.  The  old  nurse 
was  terrified  to  death;  would  I  come  quick  and 
aid  them?  She  was  still  speaking,  when  a  mad, 
ghastly  figure,  in  white,  sprang  forward  and  seized 
her. 

"  '  Devil ! '  screamed  this  maniac,  *  you  shall  not 
ruin  my  child,  as  you  have  ruined  me,'  and  she 
stabbed  Diana  furiously  in  the  side  with  a  knife. 
Then  she  leaped  upon  me.  I  had  the  bowie  in  my 
hand.  There  was  an  instant's  struggle.  I  felt  her 
cutting  at  my  neck.  I  was  not  aware  of  using  my 
weapon,  but  she  stiffened  in  my  arms  and  sank  away, 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  239 

bloody  and  wounded.  She  died  there  in  a  moment, 
horribly — she,  Diana's  mother! 

"  Diana  had  fallen  fainting,  but  not  unconscious 
— she  had  seen  the  whole.  I  sprang  to  her.  She  re- 
pelled me  with  a  look  of  horror.  I  was  covered  with 
blood,  my  own,  her  mother's,  hers.  I  screamed  for 
help.  The  old  nurse  came  out,  crouching  with  ter- 
ror. Diana  dragged  herself  away,  turning  back  to 
give  me  a  glance  of  utter  agony. 

"  I  was  left  alone  with  the  corpse ;  I  washed  my 
own  wounds;  they  were  but  trifling.  I  longed  for 
death.  I  seemed  to  myself  an  assassin.  I  set  myself 
to  remove  the  traces  of  the  struggle.  The  old  nurse 
came  out  and  aided  me,  cowering  and  shrinking 
away  as  I  touched  her.  We  carried  the  poor,  lifeless 
body  in — Diana's  mother,  feebly  like  her  daughter. 
Diana  joined  us,  pale  to  death.  She  gave  me  her 
hand  solemnly. 

" '  Go,'  she  said,  '  this  is  between  us  forever 
— between  me  and  my  undying  love.  I  am  bet- 
ter. Do  not  fear  for  me.  Go.  God  save  and 
pardon  us.  Let  this  be  a  secret  between  us  and 
Him.' 

"  I  crept  away  like  a  guilty  man.  My  horse  had 
recovered  from  his  sprain;  I  rode  off  and  left  him 
with  the  nearest  settler,  five  miles  from  her  house. 
I  returned  and  lurked  like  a  wild  beast  in  the  woods. 
I  saw  the  funeral.  No  one  was  present  but  her  own 
people.    She  was  pale,  but  calm  and  strong.    I  must 


240  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

fly  despairfully,  and  on  my  hands  the  stain  of  her 
mother's  blood. 

"  My  friend,  the  settler,  told  me  as  a  piece  of  gen- 
eral indifferent  news  that  the  madwoman  up  at  the 
big  house  had  killed  herself  in  a  fit.  That  was  the 
accepted  story  and  went  uncontradicted.  Soon 
after,  I  joined  you  in  New  York. 

"  That  is  my  story.  You  can  imagine  the  gradual 
calming  of  our  minds,  as  we  recognised  our  real 
guiltlessness.  You  can  understand  why,  to  escape 
questions,  we  seemed  not  to  know  each  other.  We 
learnt  in  our  daily  meetings  here  that  we  need  not 
shrink  from  a  new  friendship,  and  then,  by  a  chance 
confidence  at  the  picnic,  that  our  love  was  un- 
changed. 

"  And  now,  Paulding,  forgive  this  unwilling 
reticence  of  mine.  You  know  what  was  this  old 
wound.  I  fear  the  worst.  But  that  we  will  not 
speak  of." 

"  It  is  a  wide  world,  Harry,"  said  Paulding. 
"  There  is  room  in  it  for  many  exiles.  I  shall 
find  my  home  for  wandering — somewhere — any- 
where." 

The  moon  sank  away  drearily,  leaving  a  ghastly 
paleness  in  the  west.  And  the  melancholy  breakers, 
in  darkness  now,  went  on  falling,  hesitating,  lifting, 
falling  on  the  black  rocks,  counting  the  measures  of 
a  desolate  eternity. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  WHICH   MR.  BELDEN  REACHES  THE  END 
OF  HIS  ROPE 

WHEN  Mr.  Waddy  rang  his  bell  in  the  morn- 
ing after  the  stable  scene,  no  Chin  Chin  ap- 
peared, and  inquiry  developed  the  fact  that  Chin 
Chin  was  sick.  Ira's  toilet  may,  therefore,  not  have 
been  quite  so  accurate  as  usual,  and  the  polish  on  his 
neat  calfskins  not  so  mirrorlike.  In  fact,  he  had  too 
many  anxieties  crowding  around,  to  concern  himself 
much  with  cravat  ties  and  the  gleaming  boot.  He 
sent  his  groom,  a  Bowery  boy,  pur  sang,  to  care  for 
Chin  Chin. 

"  He  ain't  dangerous,  sir,"  that  worthy  returned 
to  report,  "  but  he's  been  a-gulpin'  down  suthin'  as 
has  kicked  up  a  bobbery  in  his  innards." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Waddy;  "have  Pallid 
ready  for  eleven  o'clock.  How  does  he  look  this 
morning?  " 

"  He's  as  gay,  sir,  as  a  house  afire,"  Bowery  as- 
sured him.  "  Yer  kin  bet  yer  life  on  it,  he'll  rake 
'em  down !  "  and  Bowery  departed,  humming  cheer- 
fully to  himself,  confident  of  being  richer  ere  the 
day  was  over. 

241 


242  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Major  Granby  dropped  in  upon  his  friend  a  mo- 
ment later. 

"  I'm  losing  my  interest  in  this  race,"  said  Waddy, 
"  since  Dunstan's  unwillingness  to  ride  has  become 
so  evident.  Poor  fellow !  I'm  afraid  there's  very  lit- 
tle hope  for  Diana." 

"  Don't  say  so,"  protested  Granby ;  "  the  world 
cannot  spare  that  noble  girl.  I  was  just  speaking 
with  Skerrett  of  her.  He  says  she  is  the  only  woman 
he  ever  knew  who  is  afraid  of  neither  fresh  air  nor 
sunshine.  And  Clara — how  can  that  beautiful 
friendship  be  severed?  You  can  hardly  imagine 
how  those  sisters  have  quartered  themselves  in  my 
rusty  old  heart.  Did  you  ever  hear  them  speak  of 
Miss  Sullivan,  their  governess?  She  must  be  a  re- 
markable person." 

"  Sullivan  ?  No,"  said  Waddy,  connecting  the 
name  at  once  with  his  preserver  at  The  Island.  "  A 
lady  of  that  name  did  me  a  service  once.  I  must  ask 
them  about  her." 

"  Dunstan  will  ride  without  fail,  I  suppose?" 
asked  Granby.    "  We  must  beat  that  fellow  Belden." 

"  Dunstan  will  hold  to  his  word ;  if  it  were  to 
drive  the  chariot  of  Tullia,"  answered  Ira,  who  had 
read  his  friend's  character  aright. 

Mrs.  Budlong  had  an  interview  with  Arabella 
early  that  morning.  Arabella  looked  very  tearful, 
but  there  was  also  a  new  expression  in  her  face, 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  243 

thanks  to  Peter  Skerrett — one  might  almost  call  it 
determination. 

"Well,  my  dear,"  said  the  step-mother,  "what 
shall  I  say  to  the  lover?  He  is  eager  for  the  kind 
word  of  encouragement,"  and  Mrs.  De  Flournoy 
played  affectionately  with  the  young  lady's  curls. 

"  Tell  him  I  hate  him!  "  cried  the  poor  penitent, 
bursting  into  tears  again.  "  I  hope,  madam,  you 
will  never  mention  his  name  to  me — no,  not  once 
more !    Oh !  oh !  you  hurt  me." 

The  affectionate  mamma  had  given  the  curls  a 
little  tug. 

"  You  silly  fool !  "  said  she,  "  don't  you  know  he 
can  ruin  your  prospects  ?  You'll  offend  your  father 
so  that  he'll  discard  you,  and  then  what  will  you  do  ? 
If  you  are  so  dishonourable  and  disobedient,  when 
we  are  striving  for  your  good,  we  shall  let  you  go 
to  the  destruction  you  choose." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  find  some  friends  who  will  not 
think  me  dishonourable,"  sobbed  poor  Arabella, 
thinking  with  rueful  gratitude  and  confidence  of 
honest  Peter  and  his  fraternal  feelings.  "  I'm  not 
dishonourable.  I'm  trying  to  do  right.  I  may  have 
been  foolish,  but  that — man — he  can't  be  a  gentle- 
man, or  he  would  not  persecute  me  so.  I  don't  know 
what  reason  you  can  have  for  wanting  to  make  me 
miserable." 

"  My  reasons  are  of  course  wise  and  judicious," 
retorted  Mrs.  B.     "  I  will  see  you  once  more,  and 


244  Mr-  Waddy's  Return 

then,  if  you  do  not  choose  to  yield,  you  will  be  the 
cause  of  the  cclatant  scandal  of  the  season.  You 
won't  think  of  going  to  the  race  with  those  red  eyes. 
I  wouldn't  take  you  if  you  did." 

Poor  Arabella  was  the  only  one  who  did  not  go ; 
everybody  went;  all  that  we  have  encountered  in 
this  history  and  platoons  of  others. 

The  first  beach  at  Newport  is  straightish,  and  a 
mile  or  so  in  length, — a  very  long  "  or  so,"  when 
you  are  dragged  over  it  in  the  unwilling  family 
coach,  by  stagnant  steeds — a  very  short  mile  when 
the  beautiful  comrade  whose  presence  is  a  conse- 
cration and  a  poet's  dream,  says  "  Shall  we  gallop?  " 
and  cheats  with  fleeting  transport,  as  she  passes,  the 
winds  from  summer  seas,  that  sigh  to  stay  and 
dally  with  her  curls. 

Between  beach  number  one  and  beach  number  two 
is  an  interregnum  of  up  and  down,  a  regency  of 
dust.  Then  comes  the  glorious  second  beach.  You 
will  hardly  see  anything  more  beautiful  than  this 
long,  graceful  sweep,  silvery  grey  in  the  sunshine, 
with  a  keener  silver  dashed  along  its  edge  by  curving 
wave  that  follows  curving  wave.  You  will  hardly 
see  any  place  gayer  than  this  same  wide  path  beside 
the  exhilarating  dash  of  the  Atlantic,  on  a  gay  after- 
noon of  August — hundreds  of  carriages,  more  or 
less  well-appointed ;  scores  of  riders,  more  or  less 
well-mounted  or  -seated. 

Thus,  then,  to  the  second  beach  between  grey 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  245 

rocks,  grey  sand  slopes,  and  grey  meadows  beyond, 
and  on  the  other  hand  the  gleaming  glory  of  the  sea, 
came  at  eleven  that  morning,  to  see  the  race,  all  the 
snobs  and  all  the  nobs.  Peter  Skerrett  and  his  aides 
marshalled  them.  Mrs.  Budlong,  alone  in  her  car- 
riage, bowed  and  smiled  very  pleasantly  to  Peter. 
However  critical  that  person  may  have  felt  her  po- 
sition, and  whatever  desperate  resolve  she  might 
entertain  for  escape,  through  whatever  postern,  from 
the  infamy  of  public  dismissal,  she  was  quite  as 
usual.  No;  she  was  even  handsomer  than  usual, 
more  quietly  splendid  in  attire,  and  reclining  with 
calmer  luxuriousness  of  demeanour  on  her  cushions 
of  satin. 

Among  the  many  traps,  drags,  and  go-carts,  of 
various  degrees  of  knowingness,  Mr.  Waddy's  was 
conspicuous.  Major  Granby,  old  Budlong,  and 
Paulding  accompanied  him.  Old  Bud  said  it  made 
him  quite  young  again  to  see  the  boys  out. 

"  But,  sir,"  he  added,  "  why  do  they  bump  on  the 
outside  of  a  horse,  when  they  might  sit  and  grow 
fat  in  a  buggy?  There's  Tim,  sir,  my  boy  Tim,  is 
growing  quite  thin  and  haggard;  he  says  riding 
don't  agree  with  him.  I'm  afraid  he  won't  do  much 
with  Drummer  to-day." 

A  straight  race,  on  a  dead  level,  lacks  features  of 
varied  brilliancy.  Peter  Skerrett  had  arranged  that 
the  field  should  start  alternately  from  either  end, 
that  all  might  see  alphas  and  omegas.     Thus  the 


246  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

proud  and  numerous  start  and  the  disarrayed  and 
disappointed  finishes  might  be  viewed  by  all  spec- 
tators. All  might  share  the  breathless  sympathies 
of  doubts  and  enthusiasms  for  the  winner. 

Peter  Skerrett,  too  busy  to  think  of  poor  Arabella, 
who,  in  her  bower,  was  thinking  much  of  him  and 
sighing  as  she  thought  how  unworthy  she  had  been 
in  her  long  education  of  vanities  and  follies;  Peter 
now  brought  forward  his  rank  of  equestrians.  The 
sea  was  still,  and  hardly  rustled  as  it  crept  along 
the  sands,  unterrifying  to  horse  or  man ;  yet  the  air 
was  cool  and  the  sun  not  too  ardent  to  be  repelled  by 
a  parasol. 

As  the  line  formed,  the  ladies  chose  their  cham- 
pion men  and  bet  gloves  recklessly  on  them;  the 
gentlemen  chose  champion  horses,  with  a  view  also 
to  riders,  and  bet  reckfully. 

It  appeared  that  Tim  Budlong  was — bluntly — 
drunk,  and  Drummer  lost  his  backers.  There  was 
a  murmur  of  sympathy  as  Dunstan  rode  up  on  Pal- 
lid; sympathy  admiring  for  this  pair,  a  best  of  the 
animal  and  a  best  of  the  man,  and  sympathy  pitiful 
for  the  man  of  a  soul  that  must  bear  the  anxiety  and 
perhaps  the  sorrow  that  all  knew  of.  A  noble  fellow 
and  a  generous  the  common  suffrage  made  him,  al- 
ready distinguished  for  bold  ability  and  frank  dis- 
dain of  cowardice  and  paltering.  When  experience 
had  made  him  a  little  more  indulgent  to  the  limping 
progress  and  feeble  vision  and  awkward  drill  of 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  247 

mankind,  rank  and  file,  he  would  be  a  great 
popular  leader.  So  thought  the  Nestors,  feeling 
themselves  fired  by  the  fervours  of  this  young 
Achilles. 

Belden  had  overdone  his  costume,  as  such  men 
often  do.  It  was  urgent  with  him  to  look  young ;  he 
achieved  only  a  gaudy  autumnal  bloom.  Knock- 
knees,  malgre  that  ungainly  quality  of  his  legs,  was 
an  imposing,  masculine  style  of  horse.  As  he  passed, 
stopping  to  speak  intimately  to  Mrs.  De  Flournoy, 
several  of  the  intuitionless  women  envied  that  per- 
son and  several  men  called  him  "  lucky  dog." 

Blinders  was  not  a  lady's  man.  His  horse  was, 
however,  one  of  the  favourites.  Very  few  men  but 
Blinders  would  have  ventured  to  mount,  or  even  ap- 
proach, such  a  rascal  brute.  Nosegay  knew  that  his 
master  was  invincible,  but  he  wished  to  inform  him 
that  they  were  a  pair  of  invincibles;  accordingly, 
despising  the  two  snaffles,  the  one  in  hand,  the  other 
around  the  rider's  waist  for  steady  drag,  Nosegay 
would  fling  his  head  about  and  then  move  on  without 
reference  to  requests  that  he  tarry  or  stand  at 
ease. 

"  That  there  'oss  '11  overrun  'isself,"  said  Figgins 
to  Mr.  Waddy's  Bowery  Boy,  with  whom  he  had 
bets  on  Pallid,  money  up.  "  'E'll  make  a  four-mile 
'eat  hout  of  hevery  mile  'eat." 

"  Gaaz,  Johnny  Bull !  "  returned  the  Bowery. 
"  Thar  ain't  no  hoss  in  a  hide  as  kin  git  away  from 


248  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

Mr.  Blinders.     It  caan't  be  did.     He's  one  er  the 
bohoys,  he  is." 

Bob  O'Link's  horse  was  a  mare.  The  sentimental 
fellow  had  named  her  Lalla  Rookh.  She  was  a  deli- 
cate beauty,  but  it  was  quite  evident  that  her  master 
would  not  give  himself  the  trouble  to  win. 

Scalper  was  so  busy  caricaturing  Billy  Dulger 
that  he  was  near  forgetting  to  present  himself  with 
Gossoon.  Little  Skibbereen  recalled  him  to  his  duty. 
Skibby  wanted  to  see  his  horse  go,  and  could 
hardly  forgive  his  mamma  for  keeping  him  at  her 
side. 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  break  my  neck,  ma,  if  I  like?  " 
he  protested.  "  I'll  go  and  break  it  the  day  I'm 
twenty-one  and  leave  my  property  to  the  Tract 
Society." 

Sir  Com  Ambient  said  good-naturedly  that  he 
merely  started  to  make  one  more  in  the  field.  This 
was  clear  to  the  observing  eye. 

Billy  Dulger,  having  achieved  his  heart's  desire, 
rode  up  very  unwillingly.  The  bookkeeper  had  sent 
him  on  garments  much  too  refulgent  for  this,  or 
any  occasion.  He  was  rather  conspicious  per  se  as 
the  Great  Accepted  of  Miss  Center.  The  Billy- 
dulgerid  epic,  having  already  been  brought  to  its 
finale,  nothing  more  need  be  said  of  its  hero's  per- 
formances in  the  race,  except  that  his  horse  did  not 
disappoint  the  stableman,  his  owner;  did  not  win  a 
heat;  did  not  start  a  second  time;  and  that  Billy's 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  249 

hair  was  full  of  sand  for  several  days  after  this 
eventful  one. 

Preparations  are  of  years,  acts  of  moments.  To 
run  a  mile  takes  a  minute  and  so  many  seconds,  dis- 
appointingly brief.  Poor,  dissolute  Tim  Budlong, 
over-fortified  by  drink,  struck  Drummer  viciously  at 
starting.  Drummer  shied  toward  the  water  and  Tim 
went  over  his  head.  Sobered  by  the  plunge,  Timothy 
mounted  the  horse,  which  someone  caught,  and 
disappeared  homeward,  fully  ashamed  of  him- 
self. 

In  a  minute  and  so  many  seconds,  a  hurrah  came 
down  the  wind.  Blinders  had  won;  Pallid  second; 
Knockknees  third. 

"  All  right  next  time,"  telegraphed  Figgins  to  his 
master. 

Sir  Comeguys  had  saved  his  distance  handsomely 
and  now  withdrew. 

Time  was  about  to  be  called  again.  Where  was 
Blinders?  At  last  he  reappeared.  Nosegay  had 
gone  on  indefinitely  and  was  at  last,  with  difficulty, 
persuaded  to  return. 

Off  they  all  go  once  more.  The  ladies  at  the 
upper  end  are  almost  terrified  at  this  assault  of 
cavalry.  So  even  seems  the  front  of  charge  that  all 
are  deemed  winners ;  but  the  judges  announce  Pallid 
first;  Knockknees  second;  Nosegay  third — all  very 
close  running. 

Belden  began  to  be  anxious.    Instead  of  drooping, 


250  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

Pallid  was  improving.  Had  the  poison  failed?  He 
superintended  the  care  of  his  horse  most  sedulously. 
Each  of  the  gentlemen  had  a  groom  at  either  end  of 
the  course.  Dunstan  grew  excited  with  success. 
The  match  was  a  very  even  one.  Good  riding  would 
determine  it.  Bob  O'Link  strolled  up  to  Miss 
Anthrope's  carriage. 

"  I  think  I'll  win  the  next  heat,  if  you  wish  it," 
said  he  languidly. 

Everyone  was  astonished  at  the  next  announce- 
ment of  victory.  Lalla  Rookh  first;  Knockknees 
second;  Pallid  and  Nosegay  third.  Blinders  kept 
Nosegay  up,  but  he  was  showing  the  effects  of  his 
stubborn  struggles.     Belden  called  Figgins. 

"By  God!"  said  he,  "you've  cheated  me;  the 
horse  goes  better  every  time.  I  only  got  ahead  this 
time  by  Link's  riding  in." 

"  Hi  dunno  what  hit  means,"  protested  his  ac- 
complice. "  Hif  I've  cheated  you,  Hi've  cheated 
myself.  Hevery  penny  of  mine's  hon  it.  I  'ope 
'e'll  drop  next  time." 

But  he  did  not  drop.  There  was  only  half  a  head 
between  him  and  Nosegay,  but  Pallid  won  the  race 
and  immense  applause.  He  was  victor  in  the  first 
regular  race  ever  run  on  the  beach  of  Newport. 
Everyone  felt  that  the  occasion  was  important. 

For  a  moment  Belden  sat  his  horse  like  a  man 
dazed.  He  had  been  falling  a  long  time — at  last 
he  had  come  to  the  ground.    He  had  backed  Knock- 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  251 

knees  heavily,  besides  his  bet  with  Granby.  He 
could  not  pay.  He  knew  that  his  Boston  creditors 
would  be  down  to  attach  his  horses  for  Boston 
debts;  Millard's  bill  of  three  figures  was  lying  on 
his  table  unpaid. 

"  That  damned  Figgins  will  blow  me,"  he 
thought.  He  cursed  Dunstan,  winner  of  the  race, 
winner  of  Diana.  "  She  would  have  made  me  a 
better  man,"  thought  he,  with  a  groan  of  despair. 
"  I  shall  have  to  retire  for  a  while.  Luckily,  I've 
got  hold  of  someone  that  I  can  invite,  rather  posi- 
tively, to  go  along  and  pay  expenses." 

The  thought  nerved  him,  and  he  pulled  himself 
together.  He  dismounted,  gave  his  horse  to  his 
supplemental  groom,  and  looking  with  a  pleasant 
scowl  around,  walked  up  to  Mrs.  Budlong's  car- 
riage. 

"  I  find  it  rather  warm,  now  that  the  race  is 
over,"  said  that  person.  "  Will  you  get  in  and  drive 
home  with  me?  " 

So  they  drove  off  in  very  handsome  style,  admired 
by  the  admiring,  envied  by  the  envious.  Mrs.  Bud- 
long  complained  of  a  headache,  and  kept  her  room 
the  rest  of  the  day. 

Wellabout  drove  Dunstan  away.  They  stopped  at 
Mr.  Waddie's.  Diana  would  see  her  betrothed  to- 
day. His  heart  sank  at  the  announcement.  There 
was,  indeed,  no  hope;  she  must  die;  slowly,  sadly, 
after  many  days  of  lingering  adieux,  and  all  that 


252  Mr.  Waddy 's  Return 

divine  beauty  be  no  more  seen  and  felt  to  inspire 
and  to  consecrate  her  neighbour  world. 

Mr.  Waddy,  Major  Granby,  and  Peter  Skerrett 
returned  at  ten  that  evening  from  dining  at  the 
Skibbereens'.  Old  Budlong  met  them  in  the  hall, 
and  they  all  went  up  to  Mr.  Waddy's  parlour  for  a 
cigar. 

Chin  Chin  had  reappeared,  looking  as  unwhole- 
some as  a  cold  buckwheat  cake.  Retribution  for  his 
reticence  had  overtaken  him.  He  began  to  tell  Ira 
his  story  of  the  stable  scene  in  his  odd,  broken 
English.  While  he  was  so  doing,  there  was  a  knock 
at  the  door.  A  woman,  Miss  Arabella's  maid,  to 
see  Mr.  Skerrett,  and  the  Bowery  Boy  for  Mr. 
Waddy. 

Ira  interpreted  Chin  Chin's  tale  to  the  other 
gentlemen. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Bowery  Boy,  who  had  waited 
with  the  imperturbableness  of  his  class,  "  if  some- 
body tried  t'  pizen  the  hoss  afore,  it  must  be  the  same 
chap  as  has  did  it  now.  I  found  this  piece  of  a  ball 
in  the  manger,  and  Pallid's  down  on  his  side  as 
dead  as  Billy  Kirby." 

At  this  moment  Peter  Skerrett  returned. 

"  Send  your  people  away,  Waddy,"  said  he. 
"  Mr.  Budlong,  these  gentlemen  are  friends.  We 
shall  need  their  advice.  Your  wife  and  Mr.  Belden 
are  missing.  They  probably  went  in  the  Providence 
boat  two  hours  ago." 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  253 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke.  Poor  Bud  sat 
staring,  his  face  purple,  unable  for  a  breath  to  com- 
prehend. Then  his  colour  faded,  his  face  fell  sud- 
denly into  folds  and  wrinkles.  He  put  down  his 
head  and  groaned. 

Before  anyone  could  find  words  of  consolation,  or 
realise  how  powerless  to  console  any  words  must  be, 
there  came  another  knock  at  the  door.  It  was 
Figgins,  looking  more  like  a  ticket-of-leave  man 
than  ever.  The  bow  in  his  legs  seemed  to  have 
increased. 

"  My  master  'as  ran  hoff  without  payin'  me 
hanythink,"  said  he,  cringing  to  Mr.  Waddy.  "  Hi 
found  them  papers  hamong  'is  traps,"  he  continued, 
laying  a  packet  on  the  table,  "  hand  seem'  as  they 
was  marked  with  yer  honour's  name,  Hi  thought  yer 
honour  mout  give  me  five  dollars  fer  a  savink  of 
'em." 

"  So  you've  been  thieving  as  well  as  trying  to 
poison,"  said  Ira,  as  he  opened  the  door.  "  Here, 
boys,"  he  called  to  Chin  Chin  and  Bowery,  in  the  ad- 
joining room.  "  Lug  this  beggar  off.  We'll  have 
him  attended  to  to-morrow.": 

"  Hi  yi!  All  same!  "  shouted  Chin  Chin,  pounc- 
ing upon  Figgins,  and  that  worthy  was  dragged  off 
with  a  Chinaman  at  his  hair  and  the  Bowery  Boy 
playfully  tapping  him  on  the  nob. 

Mr.  Waddy  picked  up  the  packet  of  papers,  to  toss 


254  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

it  after  Figgins,  but  held  his  hand,  with  a  sudden 
start  of  astonishment  as  his  eye  caught  the  in- 
dorsement. He  stared  at  it  a  moment,  scarce  be- 
lieving that  he  saw  aright;  a  swift  presentiment 
shook  him,  turned  him  hot,  cold 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  a  little  hoarsely,  "  I  do  not 
desire  to  pry  into  Mr.  Belden's  private  papers,  but 
this  parcel  is  indorsed  in  my  own  hand,  or  a  hand 
that  seems  my  own,  as  relating  to  me.  I  shall  take 
the  liberty,  in  your  presence,  of  ascertaining  the  con- 
tents." 

He  opened  them  with  trembling  fingers :  the 
whole  plot  burst  upon  him,  foul,  damnable,  un- 
speakably vile. 

"  My  God !  "  thought  he.  "  They  showed  her 
these — she  could  not  doubt  my  own  hand.  And  I 
have  wronged  her  all  these  fifteen  years !  Oh,  how 
I  pardon  her! " 

His  hands  were  trembling  still;  his  eyes  were 
hot  with  tears — tears  of  joy,  tears  of  thankful- 
ness  

Old  Budlong  looked  up,  with  a  sudden  jerk  of  the 
head.  His  eyes,  too,  were  wet  and  his  hands  trem- 
ulous. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  steadying  his  voice,  which 
would  have  broken,  "  I'm  an  old  man,  but  I've 
been  a  kind  husband,  and  as  devoted  to  my  wife  as  I 
knew  how.    I  sometimes  thought  she  was  a  little  gay 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  255 

and  it  made  me  unhappy — but  I  was  old  and  she 
was  young,  and  I  never  thwarted  her.  She  has  had 
everything  she  wished,  and,  gentlemen,  I  loved  her 
like  a  wife  and  a  daughter.  She  was  a  beautiful 
woman,,  you  know,  and  I  found  her  very  poor,  the 
daughter  of  one  of  my  old  cronies,  and  I  put  her 
where  she  belonged,  among  splendid  things.  I  have 
never  seen  anything  handsomer  than  she  was,  gentle- 
men, and  I  was  proud  of  her." 

He  spoke  of  her  as  if  she  were  dead,  and  other 
lips  were  quivering,  in  sympathy  with  his. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  thought,"  he  went  on,  after 
a  moment,  with  a  quiet  dignity  that  was  new  to  him 
and  very  touching,  "  that  I  was  too  much  away  this 
summer ;  but  when  we  came  back  from  Europe,  she 
asked  me  to  take  a  few  thousands  she  had  inherited 
from  her  uncle  and  operate  with  them.  So  I've  been 
at  work  for  her  all  summer  in  that  hot  town.  I  paid 
her  over  the  profits  last  time  I  was  down,  in  shares 
of  the  Manhattan  Bank,  a  good  old  stock,  twenty- 
three  thousand  dollars.  I  thought  perhaps  she'd 
like  to  feel  more  independent  of  the  old  man.  I  felt 
a  little  vain  of  the  operation,  gentlemen,  and  I  said 
to  her,  '  You  see,  Betty  dear,  your  old  boy  does  un- 
derstand one  thing,  and  that  is  how  to  make  money 
for  you.'  She  actually  cried  at  that,  she  did,  gentle- 
men, and  said  she  was  very  sorry  I'd  been  away  so 
much,  working  so  hard,  and  she  wished  she  was 
good  enough  for  me.    That  doesn't  look  like  a  bad 


256  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

woman,"  he  continued,  wiping-  his  eyes.  "  I 
can't  believe  she's  bad, — not  at  heart,  my  friends, — 
but  you  know  I'm  an  old  man  and  a  little  rough,  per- 
haps, and  she  didn't  like  my  being  proud  that  I'd 
come  up  from  a  deckhand  on  a  North  River  barge. 
It  was  to  please  her  that  I  stopped  writing  my  name 
Flirney  and  bought  my  new  house  and  tried  to 
study  French  and  went  to  Europe.  But  it  was  too 
late — I  was  too  old — I  couldn't  change — though 
God  knows  I  tried ! 

"  I'm  sorry  on  Arabella's  account,"  he  added, 
more  calmly.  "  She's  an  honest  girl,  and  a  pretty 
girl,  and  a  good  girl,  too,  though  I  say  it,  and  like 
her  own  mother,  when  we  lived  down  in  Pearl 
Street  long  ago.     Now,  nobody  will  speak  to  the 

daughter  of  an  old  man  whose  wife  has "    And 

the  broken-hearted  old  gentleman  stopped  and 
wiped  his  eyes  again. 

"No!  no!  Peter  Skerrett,  lad,"  he  continued, 
"  I  know  what  you  mean  to  say.  I  love  you  like  a 
son ;  but  it's  no  use.  My  name  shall  never  bring  its 
disgrace  upon  anyone  else. 

"  And  now,"  he  added,  rising,  "  I  thank  you, 
gentlemen,  for  your  kind  feeling  and  listening  to  my 
childish  talk.  I'm  an  old  man,  you  see ;  but  there's 
some  of  the  old  stuff  left  in  me  still.  I  start  to- 
morrow morning  and  I'll  trail  him — I'll  trail  him 
like  an  Injun.  I've  lived  mostly  in  the  city  since  I 
was  a  boy,  but  I  used  to  be  pretty  good  with  the  old 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  257 

King's  arm  and  I  guess  he'll  find  I  can  hit  the  size  of 
a  man  yet.  Good-night,  gentlemen.  Good-night, 
Peter,  my  boy." 

"  Mr.  Budlong,"  said  Ira,  seizing  the  old  man's 
hand,  "  I  will  go  with  you.  My  revenge  is  older 
than  yours." 

Well  out  of  Vanity  Fair,  Mr.  Ira  Waddy! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  VOYAGE  OF  UNKNOWN  LENGTH 

THERE  will  always  be  a  certain  number  of  re- 
spectable, but  inexperienced  and  unattractive 
men  whose  wives  will  prefer  others  more  attractive 
than  their  husbands,  even  to  the  point  of  infidelity. 
The  wronged  husband,  who  is  often  not  destitute  of 
embryonic  manliness,  inquires  what  he  is  to  do, 
when  he  is  true  and  his  wife  is  false? 

"  Look  you,  stranger !  There  is  only  one  thing  to 
do.    You  must  shoot !  " 

Mr.  Budlong  did  not  seem  any  more  like  a  with- 
ered De  Flournoy  in  the  pursuit  of  the  fugitives. 
He  was  strangely  alert,  keen,  skilful  in  seizing 
every  clew,  but  totally  indifferent  to  all  other  in- 
terests. In  their  long  and  dismal  journeys  by  day 
and  night,  he  and  Ira  Waddy  sat  side  by  side ;  stern, 
self-possessed,  silent  save  on  one  single  topic,  and  on 
that  speaking  only  rarely  and  of  necessity.  Travel- 
lers for  autumn  pleasure,  travellers  returning  gaily 
from  gay  summerings,  saw  these  two  grave,  iron 
men,  and  were  awed  by  their  look  of  inflexible, 
deadly  purpose.  There  was  a  watchful  meaning  in 
all  their  actions.  Their  monosyllables  with  each 
other  struck  like  thrusts  of  a  dagger. 

258 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  259 

At  Providence,  the  fugitives  had  disappeared. 
There  are  many  honest  couples  journeying  at  that 
season,  and  it  was  impossible  to  distinguish  the  dis- 
honest one.  Then,  too,  Belden's  dangerous  facility 
of  handwriting  made  the  various  names  they  as- 
sumed unrecognisable.  He  took  this  precaution 
before  he  was  aware  of  pursuit.  He  became  aware 
of  it  only  by  a  chance.  It  was  at  one  of  the  great 
railroad  centres,  where  lines  of  rail  interlace  each 
other  like  a  network  of  nerves.  The  train  with 
Belden  and  his  companion  was  just  quickening  on 
to  speed  when  a  coming  train  rumbled  slowly  into 
the  station.  Belden  was  looking  from  a  window 
and  divined  why  these  stern  men  were  leashed  to- 
gether. He  saw  them  and  they  him :  it  was  a  view 
of  a  moment  and  roused  them  afresh  to  retrace  their 
steps  in  unflagging  pursuit. 

Belden  grew  very  shaky  after  this.  Fear  is  a 
terribly  wearing  thing.  With  prostration  of  his 
morale,  physical  feebleness  began  also  to  come.  He 
felt  the  consequences  of  his  exhausting  life.  His 
hand  trembled.  You  would  not  have  bet  upon  his 
snuffing  a  candle  with  the  pistol  he  carried.  In  fact, 
you  would  have  thought  it  quite  unsafe  that  he 
should  have  a  pistol.  He  might  shoot  a  bystander 
or  himself,  as  well  as  an  assailant.  He  played  too 
much  with  that  weapon  with  his  nervous,  trembling 
fingers. 

It  was  very  soon  discovered  between  him  and  his 


260  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

partner  that  their  flight  was  not  a  necessity  of  pas- 
sion. Each  had  made  a  convenience  of  the  other, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  they  knew  it  with  mutual 
disgust.  The  intriguante,  to  give  her  the  benefit  of 
all  euphemism,  found  out  what  a  ruined  villain 
she  had  hired  for  an  escort:  and  she,  in  revenge, 
made  him  understand  her  own  good  reasons  for  ab- 
sence before  exposure.  No  very  pleasant  feeling, 
then,  between  this  pair — certainly  not  love — passion 
exhausted — contempt,  disgust,  hatred  growing — 
only  between  them  the  cohesion  of  guilt,  and  now 
of  common  terror.  Chasing  him  was  the  punish- 
ment of  his  last  and  of  his  first  villainy  and  most  he 
dreaded  the  older  vengeance  of  the  younger  man — 
that  had  a  black,  looming  weight  of  long  accumula- 
tion, and  if  it  fell  upon  him,  would  fall  with  the 
vigorous  force  of  youth.  Chasing  her  was  love 
changed,  as  she  thought,  to  hate ;  trust  to  contempt ; 
faith  outraged ;  pride  shattered ;  a  man  bitterly  pur- 
suing a  woman  who  had  been  false  to  him ;  a  worthy 
husband,  an  unworthy  wife :  and  besides  this,  the 
companion  of  this  pursuit  was  the  person  whom  she 
would  least  wish  to  encounter  as  the  representative 
of  that  public  scorn  she  had  desperately  fled  to  es- 
cape. All  this  stole  the  bloom  and  freshness  from 
the  cheeks  of  the  late  wife  of  Mr.  Budlong;  her 
flourishing  days  were  past ;  her  withering  days  had 
come ;  and,  alas !  for  her  there  would  be  no  second 
spring  to  follow  winter. 


Mr.   Waddy's  Return  261 

Flight  is  fleet  by  night  and  day.  Ways  of  dashing 
speed  traverse  half  the  continent.  Flight  is  inde- 
pendent and  baffling  with  labyrinthine  choices.  Pur- 
suit must  slowly  seize  its  clew  and  follow  cau- 
tiously. 

In  the  early  confidences  of  their  departure,  Bel- 
den  had  learnt  the  extent  of  his  partner's  resources 
— the  twenty-three  thousand  dollars,  profits  of  Mr. 
Budlong's  summer  toils. 

"  A  neat  capital,"  thought  Belden,  "  for  a  new 
country.  When  I  get  hold  of  it,  I'll  let  her  slide, 
and  after  this  blows  over,  I  can  buy  back  into  so- 
ciety." 

So  he  made  for  the  West,  hiding  his  trail  and 
covering  his  campfires.  But  a  coward  dread  per- 
manently overcame  him,  and  he  often  felt  with 
trembling  fingers  for  his  pistol  and  started  when 
coachmen  pointed  at  him  with  threatening  whips  of 
would-be  invitation,  or  hotel  clerks  asked  his  name. 

All  penal  laws  are  founded  upon  vengeance.  The 
passion  of  revenge  is  necessary  for  protection.  But 
it  is  ugly,  like  the  crimes  and  wrongs  that  awake  it. 
Mr.  Waddy,  sternly  intent  upon  the  punishment  of  a 
scoundrel,  whom  society  could  not  fully  punish,  re- 
pelled all  softer  thoughts.  He  concentrated  the 
whole  ire  of  his  nature  on  this  one  object.  He 
would  not  think  tenderly  of  his  old  love,  perhaps 
still  his  faithful  love.  He  forgave  her  for  the  wrong 
of  his  exile,  for  her  imagined  falseness :  it  was  in- 


262  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

evitable.  But  what  she  had  become;  whether  she 
still  remembered  him  with  loving  bitterness,  with 
sorrowful  despair  of  disappointed  love  like  his  own 
— this  he  knew  not,  would  not  think  of.  He  would 
not  perplex  himself  with  tender  uncertainties. 

"  Vengeance,  vengeance,"  said  his  fifteen  dreary 
years.  But  would  she,  if  she  still  remembered  him 
kindly,  receive  him  to  the  old  friendship  if  he  came 
with  blood  on  his  hands?  He  swept  away  the 
thought ;  he  saw  before  him  a  duty  to  society. 

On,  on,  silent  pair!  wronged  husband,  wronged 
lover.  On,  deadly  thoughts!  voiceless  purposes! 
Fate  goes  with  you  and  Vengeance  and  Death ! 

An  ugly  muddy  ditch,  the  Mississippi,  divides  our 
continent  with  its  perpendicular  line  of  utility.  It 
is  not  a  stream  that  one  used  to  vivifying  seaside 
waters,  or  the  clear  sparkle  of  New  England  brooks, 
would  wish  to  drown  in,  if  drowning  was  his 
choice. 

The  vehicles  that  run  upon  this  muddy  pathway 
are  worthy  of  its  ugliness.  At  night,  majestical 
moving  illuminations,  by  day  they  are  structures  of 
many-tiered  deformity.  One  of  these  monsters,  a 
favourite,  Spitfire  No.  5,  was  to  start  one  sultry 
afternoon  of  this  same  September  for  up  the  river. 
Spitfire  No.  5  wore  over  her  pilot-house  the  gilded 
elk-horns  of  victory;  all  the  passengers  were  sure  of 
being  speedily  borne  to  their  destination. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  263 

As  the  boat  backed  out  into  the  stream  and  hung 
there  a  moment  motionless,  two  men,  who  had  been 
a  little  belated  in  searching-  for  someone  they  wished 
to  find  at  the  different  hotels,  pushed  off  in  a  row- 
boat  and  overtook  the  steamer.  The  strong  current 
drifted  them  out  of  their  course  and  they  boarded 
the  boat  unobserved,  on  her  starboard  side,  away 
from  the  town. 

Mr.  Saunders  and  his  lady,  a  handsome  but 
rather  faded  person,  had  remained  in  their  state- 
room until  the  Spitfire  was  fairly  out  in  the  stream. 
The  rail  was  not  yet  put  up  at  the  forward  gang- 
way, and  Mr.  Saunders  stood  there,  looking  at  the 
crowded  levee  and  its  hundred  monster  steamboats, 
including  Spitfires  from  1  to  10.  He  was  in  a  mo- 
ment's pause  between  two  journeys.  One  long  jour- 
ney was  over;  another  was  about  to  begin.  How 
long  he  could  not  say ;  voyages  on  Mississippi  steam- 
boats may  be  short,  may  be  lingering.  All  voy- 
ages are  uncertain.  Fatal  accidents  often  happen. 
Mr.  Saunders,  so  he  entered  his  name  on  the 
books,  was  just  beginning  a  journey  of  unknown 
length. 

A  greenish  gardener  from  near  Boston,  emigrating 
to  Iowa,  who  thought  he  had  seen  Mr.  Saunders 
somewhere  before,  was  a  little  frightened  at  that 
gentleman's  brutal  reply  to  an  innocent  question,  and 
observing  him  nervously  fingering  at  something  like 
a  cocked  pistol  in  his  breast  pocket,  shrank  back. 


264  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

"  A  border  ruffian, — perhaps  Atchison  or  Titus," 
he  said  to  himself,  and  thanked  his  stars  for  his  for- 
tunate escape. 

The  two  belated  passengers  had  tumbled  in 
astern  and  now  came  forward,  with  carpet-bag  in 
hand,  to  ascend  the  staircase  to  the  saloon.  As 
they  passed  the  gangway,  still  open,  the  man  with 
the  cocked  pistol  turned,  and  they  met  face  to 
face. 

They  dropped  their  luggage  and  stepped  toward 
him.  But  he  was  too  quick  for  them.  The  nervous, 
trembling  fingers  clutched  at  the  cocked  pistol ;  there 
was  a  report;  he  staggered  back  with  his  hand  at 
his  breast  and  fell  through  the  open  gangway.  The 
great  wheel  smote  upon  the  muddy  current  and 
tossed  up  carelessly  in  the  turbid  foam  behind  a  dead 
man,  with  forehead  mangled  by  a  paddle-stroke — a 
dead  man,  going  on  a  voyage  of  unknown  length 
along  the  busy  river. 

Among  the  people  who  rushed  aft  at  the  cry  of 
horror  that  arose  was  the  woman  registered  as  the 
lady  of  Mr.  Saunders.  She  saw  the  body  come 
whirling  slowly  by  and  lazily  drown  away.  She 
sank  upon  a  seat,  and  was  there  still  in  stony,  speech- 
less dread,  when  she  felt  a  hand  laid  not  unkindly  on 
her  shoulder. 

"  Betty,  we  meant  to  kill  him,"  said  Mr.  Budlong; 
"  perhaps  it  would  have  been  murder.  We  were 
spared  the  final  crime.     I'm  sorry  for  you,  Betty, 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  265 

and  forgive  you  from  my  heart/'  and  the  poor  old 
gentleman,  worn  out,  heartbroken,  his  life  no  longer 
sustained  by  the  tense  vigour  of  a  single  purpose — 
poor  old  Bud  drooped  and  fell  blasted,  a  paralytic, 
at  the  feet  of  his  unfaithful  wife. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MR.  WADDY  ACCOMPLISHES  HIS  RETURN 

OPPOSITE  Mr.  Belden's  house,  which,  about 
the  time  of  his  departure  from  Newport, 
passed  into  the  hands  of  his  creditors,  was  the  old 
country  place  of  the  Janeway  family.  It  was  still  in 
the  possession  of  the  representative  of  that  family, 
under  a  different  name. 

The  late  Mr.  Janeway,  though  a  proud  and,  as  it 
finally  appeared,  a  bad  man,  remembered  the  in- 
herited debt  of  his  family  to  the  Waddys,  and  felt 
some  aristocratic  vanity  in  his  tutelage  of  the  young 
Ira,  our  hero.  A  close  intimacy  of  childish  friend- 
ship grew  up  between  Mr.  Janeway's  only  child  and 
daughter,  Mary,  and  his  young  protege.  Young 
Horace  Belden,  the  handsome  son  of  the  next  neigh- 
bour, Mr.  Belden,  the  great  merchant,  was  also  a 
companion  of  Miss  Janeway ;  in  fact,  the  parents  of 
these  two  destined  them  for  each  other.  Adjoining 
estates,  large  fortunes,  good  blood,  beauty  on  both 
sides — the  two  fathers  thought  the  match  a  perfect 
one  and  the  young  people  were  taught  to  consider  it 
settled.  Something  unsettled  it.  Horace  Belden 
unsettled  it  by  being  himself  and  that  self  was,  from 

266 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  267 

early  years,  not  a  noble  one.  He  unsettled  it  in  the 
mind  of  Mrs.  Janeway,  as  he  grew  older,  by  what  he 
called  his  flirtation  with  Sally  Bishop,  a  flaunting 
girl,  daughter  of  Mr.  Janeway's  ex-coachman. 

Belden,  however,  remained  very  devoted  to  Miss 
Janeway.  He  loved  her  as  much  as  was  in  his  na- 
ture, and  his  pride  was  fully  engaged  in  winning 
her,  the  great  match  of  the  day  and  his  by  long  con- 
vention. As  he  grew  older  and  no  better,  he  began 
to  consider  this  pure  young  lady  as  his  bond  to  purer 
life  and  mentally  to  throw  on  her  the  responsibility 
of  his  future  intended  reformation.  She  must  be- 
come his,  or  he  would  revenge  his  disappointment, 
his  wounded  pride,  and  his  failure  of  her  help  and 
control  in  his  proposed  change  of  character,  upon 
her,  upon  society,  and  upon  himself. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Mr.  Janeway  began  to 
discover  that  too  great  an  intimacy  was  growing  up 
between  his  protege,  Ira  Waddy,  and  his  daughter. 
It  was  well  enough  while  they  were  children,  but  the 
son  of  a  shopkeeper  of  Dullish  Court,  and  clerk  in 
the  counting-house  of  Belden  &  Co.,  was  not  for 
Miss  Janeway,  beauty,  aristocrat,  heiress,  belle. 
So  Mr.  Janeway  was  very  distant  to  Ira  Waddy, 
now  a  handsome,  high-spirited,  quick-tempered,  en- 
ergetic young  man,  full  of  generous  candour  and 
kindliness  and  gratitude  to  all  the  Janeways  for  the 
happy  and  refining  influences  of  their  society  and 
their  world.     The  ladies  always  took  Ira's  part,  but 


268  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

this  only  confirmed  Mr.  Janeway  in  his  purpose  of 
making  him  uncomfortable.  At  last,  this  gentleman, 
finding  one  day  Ira  tete-a-tete  with  Mary,  quarrelled 
with  him  openly,  and  finally  forbade  him  the  house, 
speaking  very  ill  of  his  character.  It  may  have  been 
too  late.  Whatever  had  passed  between  Ira  and 
Miss  Janeway  that  might  fitly  be  known,  Belden 
knew.  Ira  Waddy,  trustful  as  he  was  true,  had 
given  his  unreserved  confidence  to  Belden,  friend  of 
the  lady  and  of  him. 

Miss  Janeway  was  twenty,  two  years  younger 
than  Ira  Waddy,  when  he,  suddenly,  one  July, 
fifteen  years  before  this  Return  of  his,  went  off  to 
those  regions  where  his  namesake  river  rolls.  Five 
years  after,  the  crash  in  her  father's  fortunes  came. 
He  became  an  utterly  dishonoured  man,  financially, 
morally.  He  could  bear  his  guilt ;  not  its  discovery. 
He  died,  as  it  was  best  he  should.  His  daughter, 
belle  and  reputed  heiress,  did  as  scores  of  young 
ladies  of  New  England  have  done:  she  became  a 
teacher  in  a  school  and  at  last  a  governess.  By- 
and-by,  an  old  lover  of  Mrs.  Janeway  arrived.  His 
constancy  and  devotion  through  ill-report  touched 
the  lady,  and  she  consented  to  share  her  distress  and 
her  poverty  with  his  humble  fortunes  at  the  West. 
They  did  not  long  remain  humble.  Where  he  owned 
a  farm,  there  a  town  sprouted ;  where  a  lot,  thither 
came  a  railroad  demanding  a  station.  His  hillsides 
became  stone  quarries;  his  fields,  coal  mines.     His 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  269 

wealth  swelled  like  a  fungus  of  the  forest.  His  wife 
died  and  he  soon  followed  her,  fairly  bullied  out  of 
existence  by  his  own  stupendous  success.  His  whole 
property  he  bequeathed  to  his  step-daughter  on  the 
one  condition  of  a  change  of  name.  He  thus,  as  it 
were,  ceased  to  be  childless  and  avoided  contributing 
to  the  prosperity  of  his  former  rival's  family. 

Miss  Mary  Janeway,  the  governess  of  Clara  and 
Diana  and  Julia  Wilkes,  became  Miss  Mary  Sul- 
livan, the  woman  of  fortune.  She  repurchased  the 
Janeway  estate,  the  house  where  her  happy  youth 
had  passed,  and  it  was  there  she  had  received 
Diana. 

Mrs.  Cecilia  Tootler,  in  combination  with  Miss 
Sullivan,  managed  the  charities  of  their  neighbour- 
hood. Miss  Sullivan,  having  no  incumbrance  of  a 
Thomas  Tootler  and  Cecilia,  junior,  could  superin- 
tend also  those  preventive  charities,  the  schools, 
utilising  here  her  own  experience.  In  the  sick-room 
or  the  home  of  the  poor,  the  sorrowful,  or  the  guilty, 
these  two  ladies  made  themselves  welcome.  The 
elder  with  her  deep  experience  had  learnt  what  others 
need  of  wisest  sympathy,  and  the  younger  came  like 
a  gleam  of  cheerful,  untarnished  hope. 

Cecilia  in  vain  endeavoured  to  persuade  her  friend 
to  see  Sally  Bishop. 

"  She  is  dying,"  said  Cecilia.  "  She  is  punished 
for  whatever  wrong  she  may  have  done.  But 
peace  of  mind  is  totally  denied  her.     Remorse  is 


270  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

killing  her  faster  than  her  disease.  All  my  con- 
solations are  vain.  She  needs  someone  better  and 
wiser  than  I.     She  needs  you." 

"  Has  she  asked  for  me?"  said  Miss  Sullivan. 

"  No,  not  to  see  you,"  replied  Cecilia,  "  but  she 
speaks  of  you  often  with  great  distress.  Do  come 
and  see  her — perhaps  she  may  have  some  explana- 
tion to  give.     Mary,  Mary,  what  is  this  mystery?  " 

"  Dear  Cecilia,"  answered  Mary,  "  it  is  not  be- 
cause Sally  Bishop  has  been  a  very  bad  woman  that 
I  avoid  her.  But  she  was  long  ago  the  willing  and 
exulting  means  of  proving  to  me  not  only  her  own 
viciousness,  but  the  foul  treachery  and  utterly  coarse, 
detestable  baseness  of  heart  and  mind  of  one  I 
trusted  as  I  now  trust  only  God.  It  was  right  that  I 
should  know  the  truth,  but  I  must  feel  a  personal 
horror  of  a  woman  whose  ill-omened  duty  it  was  to 
tell  me  to  despair  and  lose  my  faith  and  my  happi- 
ness together.  And  Sally  Bishop  did  her  duty  as  if 
it  were  a  privilege  and  beheld  my  misery  with  vile, 
vulgar,  shameless  triumph.  I  abhor  the  thought 
of  her." 

Cecilia  said  nothing  more  at  the  time — indeed, 
there  was  nothing  she  could  say.  But  as  the  days 
passed,  Sally  Bishop  grew  hopelessly  worse,  and  her 
father  kept  himself  boozy  all  the  while.  Horse- 
jockeys,  pro-slavery  judges,  gamblers,  and  col- 
lectors of  democratic  customs  sometimes  love  their 
families. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  271 

Miss  Sullivan  had  just  received  Clara's  summons 
to  Diana's  bed  of  death;  she  was  preparing  to 
go  that  evening,  when  Mrs.  Tootler  drove  up  in 
haste. 

"  Sally  Bishop  cannot  live  through  the  day,"  said 
the  lady.  "  She  demands  to  see  you.  She  has  a  con- 
fession to  make.  Coming  death  has  absolved  her 
from  a  pledge  of  wicked  secrecy." 

And  so,  by  the  deathbed,  Miss  Sullivan,  whose 
best  and  brightest  hopes  had  been  destroyed  by  the 
infamy  of  this  poor,  dying  wretch,  listened  to  her 
confession  and  pitied  and  pardoned  her.  Sally 
Bishop,  vain  and  immodest,  had  nursed  in  her  heart 
against  young  Ira  Waddy  the  bitter  spite  of  a  shame- 
less woman  scorned.  Belden,  who  was  her  first  in- 
structor in  shamelessness,  discovered  this,  and  used 
his  power  to  delude  her  into  the  joint  revenge  of 
the  letters.  Oh,  what  carefully  villainous  letters 
Belden  made  of  them!  how  brutally  treacherous! 
how  vile !  Sally  Bishop  took  the  correspondence  in 
Ira  Waddy's  writing  to  Miss  Janeway. 

"  There,"  said  she,  "  you  heiress,  you  great  lady, 
that  have  stolen  away  my  lover,  because  you  are 
rich,  and  are  engaged  to  him  without  your  father's 
knowledge,  see  what  letters  he  used  to  write  to  me 
and  how  he  spoke  of  you  and  his  interviews  with 
you.  He  ruined  me  because  I  loved  him,  and  made 
of  me  what  you  see  in  my  own  letters,  and  I  was 
willing  that  he  should  marry  you  because  he  always 


272  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

promised  that  I  should  be  first.  But  now  he  is  try- 
ing to  get  rid  of  me.    He  finds  me  in  the  way." 

Miss  Janeway  read  the  letters  as  one  reads  a  fasci- 
nating tale  of  horror.  There  could  be  no  doubt  of 
them;  hand,  style,  circumstances — it  was  inevitable 
they  were  his.  Poor,  innocent  girl — she  would 
afterward  see  the  world  and  its  treacheries,  but 
never  any  so  base  as  this.  Her  lover,  with  her 
maiden  kiss  upon  his  lips — agony !  to  leave  her  and 
write  this. 

What  could  she  do?  Die — and  all  the  lovely 
sounds  of  nature  that  she  had  learned  to  love  with 
him  from  childhood  said  to  her,  "  die  drearily." 
But  it  was  dreary  life  that  was  to  be  hers  and  slow- 
coming  patience  in  her  desolate  retirement  from  the 
world,  and  experience  of  domestic  shame  and 
shame-crushed  life  and  disgraced  death  in  a  dark- 
ened household  and  strict  poverty  and  unaccustomed 
labour,  and  by  all  this  a  character  forming — an- 
other woman  than  the  gay,  impetuous,  proud,  loving 
girl  of  days  flattered  by  fulness  of  prosperity.  An- 
other in  all  but  loving,  and  now  she  must  love  no 
more  one  she  could  not  forget,  who  had  fled  when 
he  learnt  from  her  cold  letter  that  his  falseness  to 
her  was  known,  she  could  not  sully  her  pen  to  tell 
him  how,  nor  she,  a  pure  woman,  hear  or  speak  or 
think  of  him  more.  Love! — what  could  she  ever 
love  again  with  anything  more  than  quiet  interest — 
she  the  pale  schoolmistress,  lonely  as  that  betrothed 


Mr.  Waddy's   Return  273 

Mary  of  the  first  Ira  Waddy,  preserver  of  her  grand- 
father at  Bunker  Hill? 

So  this  pale  schoolmistress  was  calm  and  patient 
and  learnt  by  her  own  wrong  (the  only  teaching)  to 
hate  all  wrong  and  to  know  it  under  any  specious 
guise  of  quietism;  and  having  something  much  to 
pardon  in  her  own  life,  she  grew  to  pardon  other 
ruined  lives.  She  saw  how  easily  sorrow  may  be- 
come despair.  A  nobler  woman  she  was  becoming 
all  these  years,  but  still  solitary;  loving  the  many, 
but  lonely  of  the  few  to  love,  until  she  found  in 
Clara  and  Diana  worthy  objects  of  the  closest  and 
tenderest  affection. 

And  now,  almost  forgetting  the  wrong  this  poor 
dying  victim  of  Belden's  villainy  had  done  her,  in 
the  sweet  pleasure  of  forgiveness  and  the  dear  pas- 
sion of  reviving  love,  Miss  Sullivan  must  go  to  the 
deathbed  of  her  she  called  daughter,  whose  sad 
story  she  knew.  She  called  Cecilia  and  resigned  to 
her  the  dying  woman,  now  at  peace. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  dear  Cecilia,"  she  said. 
"  I  must  go.  I  must  think  of  what  I  have  heard. 
Only,  believe  me,  she  has  made  me  happy,  happy 
again  as  a  child.    God  forgive  her,  as  I  do." 

She  went  to  her  house  by  the  same  paths  where 
her  brilliant  youth  had  walked;  through  the  gate 
where  she  had  so  often  stood  for  moments  of  the  shy 
and  lingering  tenderness  of  parting;  under  the  an- 
cient elms  whose  gracefulness  had  drooped  over  her 


274  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

and  her  exiled  lover  in  many  a  moonlight  of  pensive 
hopefulness.  The  glory  had  come  back  again.  The 
freshness  of  youth  and  everlasting  springtime  was 
over  all  the  world.  She  need  never  again  force  her- 
self to  say  that  it  was  good  and  beautiful ;  a  bright- 
ness of  transfiguring  hope  went  before  her  and  re- 
vealed beneath  the  drifting  away  of  grey  dimness 
and  tearful  mists  the  light  of  beauty  unchangeable 
and  goodness  infinite. 

Miss  Sullivan  was  to  depart  on  the  same  journey 
that  Diana  had  made  with  such  hopeful  joy  of 
heart.  She  had  one  little  act  of  preparation  to  do. 
She  took  the  Testament,  her  own  childish  gift, 
which  she  had  found  still  the  talisman  of  life  to  a 
drowning  man,  and  pressing  it  very  tenderly  to  her 
lips,  she  hung  it  about  her  neck.  Its  touch  sent  a 
warm  thrill  of  longing  to  her  fondly  waking  heart 
and,  with  the  thrill,  a  blush  shot  youth  again  through 
her  cheeks. 

"  God  willed,"  she  said,  "  that  I  who  had  driven 
him  into  exile  should  be  there  at  his  return.  How 
could  I  not  know  and  feel  that  one  who  still  in 
drowning  and  in  death  clung  to  this  precious  talis- 
man of  purest  Life,  could  never  be  what  lies  had 
made  me  deem  him?  " 

And  she  went  on  her  journey  to  be  with  sorrow 
and  death;  but  with  a  joy  that  no  chance  of  any 
dying,  to-day  or  to-morrow,  could  take  away.  Her 
joy  was  of  eternity,  for  she  had  learnt  that  love  such 


Mr.   Waddy's   Return  275 

as  hers  can  never  be  born  and  grow  and  be,  unless  it 
is  founded  upon  fullest  truth  and  worthiest  worth 
and  most  honourable  honour  in  the  heart  of  him  she 
loved — and  truth  and  worth  and  honour  are  im- 
perishable and  eternal. 

In  those  weeks,  while  Mr.  Waddy  was  chasing 
sullenly  to  overtake  revenge,  Diana  was  dying 
among  her  tender  friends — Clara,  forlorn  of  her 
noble  sister,  for  whom  earth  was  not  found  worthy; 
Dunstan,  Endymion,  watching,  while  night  after 
night,  the  deity  of  his  life  and  of  his  heaven  fading, 
perished  slowly  away  until,  one  violet  dawn,  she 
was  not.  But  the  sun  came  up  and  shone  upon  his 
path  of  manly  duty,  and  he  will  bravely  walk  therein, 
conscious  that  a  beautiful  spirit  is  near  him  and  will 
never  vanish  from  the  sky  of  his  visions. 

Ira  Waddy  was  on  his  return  from  the  West. 
Revenge  had  passed  away  from  his  heart.  He  had 
seen  his  enemy  die  horribly,  but  not  by  his  hand. 
Death  had  risen  up  terribly  between  him  and  mur- 
der. Merited  revenge  had  overtaken  the  guilty,  but 
had  not  chosen  him  for  executioner.  And  as  he 
turned  his  face  again  eastward,  he  was  glad  for 
this — glad  that  the  weight  of  blood,  which  he  would 
have  assumed  unshrinkingly,  was  spared  him. 
With  this  storm  of  deadly-meaning  pursuit,  with  its 
dark  sullenness,  unillumined  until  the  final  thunder- 
bolt fell — with  this  closing  crash,  all  the  long  ac- 


276  Mr.   Waddy's  Return 

cumulating  bitterness  passed  away  from  Ira 
Waddy's  nature.  Heaven  was  clear  and  cloudless 
over  him.  All  mysteries  were  swept  away.  It  was 
a  new  dawn,  and  a  glorious.  And  he  hastened  east- 
ward, every  moment,  long  as  it  seemed,  bringing 
him  nearer,  nearer 

He  had  left  poor  Budlong  under  the  wise  and 
kind  protection  of  Peter  Skerrett.  And  there  was 
another,  a  woman,  who  wTould  not  leave  the  old 
man's  bedside,  but  was  there  a  silent,  humble  nurse, 
often  bursting  into  bitter  tears,  when  he  inarticu- 
lately murmured  to  her  feeble  words,  which  only  her 
quickened  ears  could  construe  into  intentions  of  for- 
giveness. 

To  arrange  Mr.  Budlong's  affairs  at  Newport, 
and  his  own,  Mr.  Waddy  passed  that  way  on  his 
eastward  journey.  He  arrived,  as  is  usual,  in  the 
fresh  morning.  It  was  still  early  autumn,  but 
Vanity  Fair  had  struck  its  booths,  taken  down  its 
etalage,  and  gone  into  winter  quarters.  The  season 
had  ended  sadly ;  everyone  was  saddened  for  Diana. 
Her  inspiring  beauty  had  been  the  brilliant  presence 
that  made  this  summer  brighter  than  any  remem- 
bered summer.  There  was  many  a  dry  old  beau 
who,  stimulated  by  the  thought  of  her  into  a  brief 
belief  that  he  could  be  young,  ardent,  frank,  and 
brave  again,  found  himself  looking  with  moistened 
eyes  at  the  places  she  would  illumine  no  more  and 
feeling  that  a  glory  and  a  hope  had  passed  away. 


Mr.  Waddy's  Return  277 

It  would  have  all  seemed  rather  dreary  to  Mr. 
Waddy,  walking  there  alone,  but  no  desolate  spot 
of  desert  earth  is  dreary  to  a  man  who  feels  the 
warmth  of  his  own  happiness  making  gardens  sun- 
shiny, roseate,  wherever  he  treads.  Not  drearily, 
then,  but  full  of  sad  sympathy,  Mr.  Waddy  went 
toward  the  house  of  his  gentle  kinsman  and  friend; 
thinking  most  of  Clara,  now  so  widowed  by  the 
death  of  one  dearer  than  a  sister. 

"  I  will  ask  her  who  is  this  Miss  Sullivan,  whom 
Granby  spoke  of  as  their  governess,"  he  said,  be- 
cause his  heart  was  full  of  gratitude.  "  Perhaps  it 
may  prove  that  she  and  my  kind  friend  are  one,  and 
I  can  discover  her  residence  and  thank  her  suitably." 

He  avoided  the  main  entrance  to  his  kinsman's 
grounds,  and  took  a  narrow,  winding  path,  hedged 
with  rich,  close  growth  of  arbor  vitse.  At  last  he 
reached  the  house,  and  passed  into  the  library  to 
wait.  As  he  entered,  a  graceful  figure  in  black  dis- 
appeared through  another  door.  She  had  evidently 
been  sitting  solitary  reading,  for  the  leaves  of  a  lit- 
tle book  on  the  table  were  still  fluttering.  It  had  a 
look  somehow  familiar.  Mr.  Waddy  stepped  to- 
ward the  table  and  picked  it  up. 

It  was  his  own  Testament,  gift  of  childish  friend- 
ship confirmed  by  after  love,  companion  of  all  his 
better  moments,  and  talisman  of  safety  to  his  wide- 
wandering,  bewildered  life. 

He  raised  the  time-worn,  tear-worn,  wave-worn 


278  Mr.  Waddy's  Return 

volume  to  his  lips  and,  sitting  down,  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  yielded  for  a  moment  to  the 
need  of  happy  tears. 

He  was  aroused  by  a  gentle  touch  upon  his 
shoulder.  He  turned.  It  was  his  old  love ;  his  love 
unforgotten,  through  all  those  years  of  desolate 
exile,  and  now — now,  his  own  love  forever. 

And  this  was  the  full  Return  of  Mr.  Ira  Waddy. 


THE  END 


•«  The  impression  on  the  reader  is  so  strong  that 
he  finds  his  grip  on  the  book  grow  strained  in  spite 
of  himself." — Boston  Transcript. 


In  the  Dwellings 

of  the  Wilderness 

By  C.   BRYSON  TAYLOR 
With  two  decorations  in  color.       i2mo,  $1.25 

Most  readers  will  class  this  as  a  ghost  story,  but  it  is  so  plausibly 
told  that  many  may,  like  one  of  the  chief  characters,  think  it  might  all  be 
explained  by  natural  causes  after  all.  It  tells  the  astonishing  adventures 
of  three  American  engineers,  excavating  in  the  heart  of  an  Egyptian 
desert.  The  book  is  decorated  with  pictures  of  the  desert  at  sunset  and 
in  the  starlight,  and  there  are  initials  and  a  cover  in  Egyptian  style. 

N.  Y.  Times'  Review:—"  Remarkably  well  written,  with  style  and 
discretion  and  feeling  for  effect.  You  must  read  the  tale  to  know 
about  it." 

N.  Y.  Globe  .•— "  To  strike  a  note  of  weird  horror,  and  to  sustain  that 
note  page  after  page,  without  once  falling  away  from  the  original  key, 
is  a  talent  not  given  to  a  great  number  of  authors.  ...  A  vividness 
that  makes  it  difficult  to  banish  the  picture  from  your  memory  for  many 
a  day  after  reading  it." 

N.  Y.  Sun:— "An  uncanny  story  of  the  victory  of  the  inscrutable  East 
over  three  American  engineers  ...  a  well-written  and  readable  story." 

Public  Opinion :— "  A  weird  tale  unusually  well  told." 

Independent :— "  A  new  kind  of  thrill.  .  .  .  We  warn  all  who  have 
nerves  and  nightmares  against  reading  this  book." 

Chicago  Record-Herald:—"  Fascinating  ...  the  author's  art  is 
such  that  one  is  carried  away  by  the  romance.  .  .  .  Told  with  consummate 
skill." 

Boston  Beacon:— "  A  tale  of  mystery  and  cumulative  interest  con- 
tinuously absorbing  .  .  .  two  decorations  in  color,  highly  suggestive  of 
the  desert  region  where  the  occult  action  of  the  tale  takes  place." 

Henry     Holt     and     Company 

Publishers  (VI»  '°4>  New  York 


2d  printing:  of  "  a  book  of  extraordinary  interest  as  a  study 
from  the  inside  of  the  'inwardness'  of  a  genius." 

—  Times  Saturday  Review. 

The    Diary    of   a 
Musician 

Edited  by  DOLORES  M.  BACON 

With   decorations   and   illustrations   by   Charles 
Edward  Hooper  and  H.  Latimer  Brown 

i2mo.      $1.50  net.      (By  mail,  $1.62.) 

A  picture  of  the  soul  of  a  genius,  naively  unconscious  of  the 
limitations  imposed  upon  life  by  some  of  us  who  are  not  geniuses 
— and  probably  by  some  who  are.  A  vivid  picture  is  given  of 
the  grinding  poverty  of  his  youth  on  the  Hungarian  farm,  his 
struggle  for  education,  and  his  strange  success.  His  last  en- 
tries are  touching,  and  somewhat  in  the  nature  of  a  surprise. 
The  book  runs  over  with  marked  humor. 

"Much  of  that  exquisite  egotism,  the  huge,  artistic  Me  and 
the  tiny  universe,  that  gluttony  of  the  emotions,  of  the  whole 
peculiar  compound  of  hysteria,  inspiration,  vanity,  insight  and 
fidgets  which  goes  to  make  up  that  delightful  but  somewhat 
rickety  thing  which  we  call  the  artistic  temperament  is  repro- 
duced. .  .  .  '  The  Diary  of  a  Musician  '  does  what  most  actual 
diaries  fail  to  do — writes  down  a  man  in  full.  It  is  an  entertain- 
ing study  in  naivete  and  nerves,  art-pains  and  genius-conscious- 
ness."— Bookman. 

"  Especially  interesting;  .  .  .  many  amusing  situations." 
— Public  Opinion. 

11  The  naivete  of  the  book  is  inimitable.  .  .  .  That  marve- 
lous, appalling,  mad  thing  named  genius,  at  once  the  despair 
of  those  who  do  and  those  who  do  not  possess  it,  is  here  pictured 
with  extraordinary  fascination  and  power." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"Uncommon  power  distinguishes  it;  ...  a  curiously 
interesting  book." — Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"A  work  of  usual  character;  .  .  .  entirely  original  in  its 
scope." — San  Francisco   Chronicle. 

"Take  it  how  you  will,  'The  Diary  of  a  Musician'  is 
wonderful." — Lucille  Wetherell  in  Pozuers'  Reviews  of  the 
New  Books,  Minneapolis. 


Henry     Holt     and     Company 

20  W.  23d  St.  (viii  '04)  NEW  YORK 


GENERAL  LIBRARY 
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